No Room To Wiggle
by mossley
Summary: Final chapter added. Grissom tricked Sara into going to a conference with him. What's going to happen now that she knows the truth? A sequel to Wiggle Room. Rating may change later.
1. Ch 1

**No Room To Wiggle  
Summary: **Grissom tricked Sara into going to a conference with him. What's going to happen now that she knows the truth?   
**A/N: **A sequel to my Improve Challenge short story, _Wiggle Room,_ that one of my betas blackmailed me into writing. A few sprinkled spoilers for season four. Thanks to Burked, Ann and Marlou for looking over this.  
**Rating:** PG 13. May change later.  
**Disclaimer:** If I haven't figured out a way to own CSI by now, I'm never going to.

* * *

**Chapter 1 **

"What do I need to do?"

Sara walked across Grissom's office briskly, not bothering to knock or announce her presence before interrupting his paperwork. He gave her a puzzled look as she sat in one of his chairs. Taking off his glasses, he stared inquisitively.

Sara did nothing to elaborate.

_See how he likes being in the dark for a change. Like I don't have a reason to be pissed at him. I can't believe he's doing this to me. He's a damn genius; let's see how long it takes him to figure this out. _

_Oh, yeah. How long has he been trying to figure out 'what to do about this'? Glad I went to the bathroom before coming in here. _

Sara had spent the drive back from the crime scene trying to come to terms with the fact that Grissom had tricked her into attending a weeklong conference with him. Ostensively, it was to serve as his assistant during his lectures. But according to Greg, all his talks were on the first day, making her presence the rest of the week unnecessary.

By the time she'd reached the lab, Sara had managed to convince herself there was no significance to the whole thing. Grissom's words to Dr. Lurie still echoed solemnly in her mind – he couldn't do anything about this. That ruled out anything … personal. No, there were too many other possible explanations. It didn't mean a thing.

Once she deposited the evidence, Sara quickly investigated Explanation One: Greg had been wrong. A quick check of conference agenda posted on the Entomological Society's web site verified that all of Grissom's talks would be held the first day.

There had still been Explanation Two: It was a typo. Luckily, it was well into a double-shift, and the conference organizer, Dr. Robert Crothers, had already arrived in his office. His response of "Tell Gil to relax. I remembered to change his talks to the first day," not only ruled out a typo, but it also eliminated Explanation Three: Grissom didn't know.

Sara had sat at her workstation, feeling her temper rise.

_Damn him! What the hell is Grissom playing at? Lying to me so I'd go to a conference - even he can't that dense. If he wants something, anything, he's going to have start being honest. _

Sara would be the first to admit that relationships weren't her strong suit, but she knew that successful ones were a balance of give and take. She also knew enough to know that didn't mean she did all the giving while he did all the taking.

_Things are going to change, Grissom, one way or another. They have to – I can't keep doing this. _

Now Sara found herself with her best interrogation room expression, watching as Grissom grew more uncomfortable in the silence. He finally set his pen down and rested his forearms on the desk.

"Do about what?" he asked in confusion.

"The conference."

"Oh. That," he said, relieved as he went to pick his glasses up. "Nothing. I've already taken care of all the paperwork."

"And once we're there?" Sara asked evenly, nearly smiling when she caught a flicker of apprehension in his eyes.

"Just assist. I need to finish these reports, so…"

"Assist how?"

"It's nothing to worry about," he offered with a quick smile. "The sheriff is going to kill me if I don't finish this…"

"I won't take long. I've never assisted you in a talk. I don't remember you ever taking an assistant before. I want to make certain I'm prepared. For each talk"

Sara narrowed her eyes as he turned away quickly to start searching through his desk drawers. She kept her expression level as she observed him, certain now that he was hiding something.

"All you have to do is give me a hand when something comes up. Not literally," Grissom joked when she raised an eyebrow coolly. "Help me answer questions, things like that."

"I'm not an entomologist. What kind of questions could I answer?"

"You can answer any of the questions they'll have about the forensics aspect of the cases."

"You know more."

Grissom gave up his routine of searching his desk and attempted to give her a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry. You're more than prepared for anything."

"So, I'm not supposed to do anything specific?"

"No."

"Just hang around during your talks," she said, tilting her head as she watched him.

"And help when needed."

"Right," she said slowly, giving him a humorless grin. "Well, that takes care of the first day."

Watching as Grissom's jaw dropped slightly, Sara didn't feel any satisfaction in catching him off guard. When he leaned back with a puzzled look, she continued. "The schedule is listed on their web site. I checked. It's not a typo. Your talks are all on the first day. Like you wanted."

"I like to get them out of the way," he offered.

"Yeah. And what am I supposed to do the rest of the week? Be your cheerleader during the cockroach races?"

"It wouldn't hurt," he huffed. "They've been doing lousy. I haven't had one place better than fourth since …" Seeing her unamused look, Grissom shrugged apologetically. "You can attend the other talks."

"Yours are the only ones related to forensics."

"Consider it an educational vacation."

"A vacation? To Toledo?" Sara asked angrily. Grissom wasn't going to do it. He couldn't admit that he wanted to spend time away from the lab with her. His expression showed he didn't even believe the excuses he was giving her.

"I'm sure it's a very nice city," he said softly, picking up his pen and pointing to the door. "I need to finish this paperwork."

Getting up slowly, Sara bit her lip as she crossed the room._ No. You aren't going to do this to me. Damn, I love you, but I need more from you, Grissom. I want this, but if you can't even admit you're interested, there's no hope. _

"Look, Grissom," she said calmly, pausing at the door. "Our B and E turned into a major drug case. Things will be hectic enough with two of us gone at the same time. It would be a better use of my time to stay here if I'm not needed in Toledo."

"You are needed," he said softly.

Sara jerked around sharply, surprised by the emotional turmoil in his eyes. They locked gazes, neither seemingly able to break contact until his pager went off. She leaned against the doorframe, waiting as he stared at the pager. It didn't take that long to read a message. Was he hoping she'd leave or trying to frame a response?

In the past, Sara would have simply left after his prolonged silence, but she needed answers that she'd been unable to find herself. So she forced herself to wait, fighting back the growing unease. What was the worst that he can say? _'This was a mistake,'_ or _'Maybe you should look for another job'_?

Right now, Sara wasn't sure she'd disagree with either statement. It wasn't that she didn't love Grissom; she did, but in a way that continued to surprise her. All her life, she'd been independent. While she enjoyed being with a partner, she never needed someone.

Until Grissom.

What she felt for him was exciting and thrilling, hinting of a potential that she could only begin to imagine. But it was also frightening. His treatment of her had ranged from kind and caring, to cold and harsh. Everything except honest. And through his public putdowns, his lack of respect, his allowing personal issues to interfere with her career, she'd stayed, still hoping he'd eventually allow himself to take a chance on her.

Sara was coming to realize that what they had was – to put it mildly – unhealthy.

There were only three options Sara could see: remain professional colleagues, hopefully able to become friends again; leave Las Vegas altogether; or move forward in their relationship. She really didn't want to go with the second choice. It was a great job, and she had friends here. But she wasn't going to put her life on hold forever, and he'd already demonstrated her professional career could be in jeopardy.

So far, Grissom had given no sign he was ready for the third option, but was he trying for the first? Was this conference an overture? She needed an answer, so she waited until he set the pager down and slowly lifted his eyes to her.

"Sara, you're working too hard. A break would be good for you. I can't make you attend, but I hope you will. I," Grissom paused. "I want you to come with me. Please."

"Fine," Sara replied, dropping her head as she headed out of his office sadly. Once in the relative safety of the locker room, she questioned the wisdom of her decision.

_So much for not being a doormat anymore. _

Pausing at her locker, Sara shook her head. No, there had been something else there. Grissom hadn't said the words, but his voice and expression told another story. They'd been insistent, imploring even.

_Or I'm deluding myself. _

With a resigned sigh, Sara grabbed her bag and headed for the exit. Grissom still hadn't admitted to anything. His heartfelt request wasn't enough for her to commit to anything personal, but it was enough to get her to go to the conference. This would be her last effort, though. If they didn't make noticeable progress in the week they were gone from the lab, that was it. She would move on.

_TBC_


	2. Ch 2

**Major A/N: Go to my homepage to get a list of contact information to protest the firing of Jorja Fox and George Eads from the show. Whether you're a fan of either character or not, the show will not be the same without them. Fan input has brought shows back from cancellation; it can bring back two actors.**

* * *

**No Room To Wiggle  
Summary: **Grissom tricked Sara into going to a conference with him. What's going to happen now that she knows the truth?  
**A/N: **A follow up to my Improve Challenge short story, _Wiggle Room,_ that one of my betas blackmailed me into writing. A few sprinkled spoilers for season four. Thanks to Burked, Ann and Marlou for looking over this.   
**Rating:** R.   
**Disclaimer:** If I haven't figured out a way to own CSI by now, I'm never going to.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

After seven-and-a-half hours in coach and a layover in Cleveland, Grissom stretched blissfully as he stood to open the overhead compartment. Despite a minor embarrassment, the flight to Toledo had gone better than he thought it would, although he hadn't been entirely sure what to expect.

In the days since Sara's confrontation in his office, they had little interaction. His paperwork had reached the critical mass that produced an explosive Cavallo extolling the virtues of Ecklie and his prompt submittal of forms and reports. Sara's case had been full of dead-ends that sent her and Catherine over half the county. They had some professional conversations that, while polite, weren't exactly what Grissom would call friendly.

_We used to be friends. God, I miss that. I never realized how much it meant to me until it was gone. Isn't that always the case? If nothing else, I want to get our friendship back. I owe Sara that much. But can I settle for that? Well, it's not like that's my choice anymore. _

"I'll get these," Grissom said as he retrieved their carryon bags, leaving Sara with just the laptop and her purse. When she nodded silently, he decided to take that as a positive sign; at this point, he'd taken any encouragement that came his way.

Grissom was self-aware enough to know that the past year probably counted as a mild mid-life crisis. Immediately after the surgery to correct his hearing, he'd decided to change, to become more connected with the world. In spite of his intentions, he found that change was easier said than done. There were some cosmetic differences – like the beard – but his overall behavior remained monastic.

One area of change that kept coming to mind was Sara. Grissom told himself that his growing desire to be with her was part of his crisis; the older man trying to recapture his youth with a younger woman was a classic mid-life cliché. But clichés developed because they had a basis in fact. He wouldn't want to use any woman like that, but especially not Sara. To resist temptation, he kept her away, turning from being simply distant to openly cool. It was all to protect her.

So he told himself.

But in bed, during the time sleep approached and his mental defenses were down, the truth seeped out, and it wasn't a comforting thing. As much as Grissom wanted to deny it, he needed Sara. Not on a physical level, though the attraction was undeniable, but in a way that made his head spin. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, and the intensity of it was more than a little overwhelming for a man used to keeping his emotions in check.

_I'm afraid of you. Who'd believe it? Oh, you can be a spitfire, and only a fool would make you angry … Well, I guess I'm all kinds of a fool, then … But inside, at your core, you have a gentle soul. There is a kindness that is inherent in who you are. I know you'd be an incredible partner. _

_That's what makes you so scary. I could never get over losing you. And I don't know how to keep you from leaving. You have to know by now that I don't 'get' personal relationships. How long would you be happy with me? _

_You're my personal Scylla and Charybdis. Being with you means running the risk of a pain I can only imagine. Being without you means living without happiness. I'm not sure how to handle either option. _

Confrontation was never his style, so Grissom didn't act on his feelings, at least not openly. But the growing frustration of his self-imposed exile took its toll on him. Grissom found it impossible to maintain the strict separation between personal and private that had been a keystone of his life.

Unfortunately, the object of his frustration often turned out to be the source of it. Grissom knew he hurt Sara, and the added guilt compounded his frustration. The inevitable result was a deterioration of their personal and professional relationships.

They'd reached a crossroads. Things could no longer remain the same between them. He had to open himself to the possibility of being hurt, or he would lose Sara forever. But just when he was ready to move forward, Sara seemed to have given up on him.

Toledo seemed the obvious solution to his romantic dilemma.

Grissom hadn't been lying when he told Sara she was working too hard. He'd been telling her that since she moved to Vegas. But his real interest in her attending the conference had been purely personal. It would be the perfect cover for gauging where they stood.

Under the guise of work, he'd be able to ask her to share meals and attend the evening social events. If she said 'no', he was spared the embarrassment of a direct rejection. If she said 'yes', Grissom could see if Sara was just being friendly, or if she was still interested in finding out what could happen between them.

The conference also provided a modicum of protection. Grissom feared she was going to reject him; that her prediction that he would wait until it was too late would prove true. If she did rebuff him, he'd have time to come to grips with his heartbreak before they returned to Las Vegas. And if, by some chance, she agreed, they would have a degree of privacy as they started out.

That had been the plan, anyway. Sara finding out his ruse wasn't.

It had been Catherine who had paged him during the showdown in his office. As always, his friend's timing had been impeccable. Her message – 'Sara knows' – arrived too late to do any good. He worried that his charade made things worse.

_But Sara came. Why? I could tell she was angry. Probably hurt, too. But she's here with me. Maybe she's giving me another chance. Or she believed me when I said I needed an assistant. No, I could tell she wasn't buying that in my office. I'll take my chances on 'last chance'. I can't blow this. _

Grissom decided to make use of the limited confines of the airplane to his advantage. Once Sara finished an article in a forensics journal, he'd broken the ice by asking her about it. When she mentioned the author's name, a grin formed naturally.

"Did he mention the dead rat anecdote?"

She'd turned to give him a puzzled look. "About the poisoned rat providing the clue? Yeah."

"He uses it all the time. It's not true," he'd told her conspiratorially. "I was there."

"Really?"

"They wanted my opinion on some of the bugs. The body had been found in the sewer, like all the others, with the hands cut off and the throat slit. This one had been down there for a long time, really putrid, probably the first one. When he leaned over to take some pictures, the rat jumped out of the mouth. It startled him so much, he dropped the camera on its head, killing it. They didn't find out about the poison until later."

"Cool!" a voice squeaked.

Both had looked up to see the enthusiastic freckled face of boy and his horrified mother peering over the top of the seats in front of them. Other passengers had stared at them in a mixture of fear and disgust, while the steward had paused in pouring coffee.

"We're criminalists," he'd offered. While the gaffe was embarrassing to him, Sara seemed to be trying to control her mirth, pointing out the journal's title as if trying to convince the others that he wasn't some sort of pervert. After that, he'd kept the conversation limited to safer – and much quieter – topics, ignoring the boy who kept trying to observe them from between the seats.

_That was somewhat humiliating. I hate being the center of that type of attention. It did get Sara to smile, though. She didn't seem to be upset. And I think she was laughing at the situation, not at me. How many times have women been disgusted by what I talk about? _

_Well, so far, so good. We talked. I'm glad I made up a list of topics she might be interested in before we left. I knew Sara was intelligent, but I didn't realize she was so well-read. And she is talking to me. She can't be too upset then. _

'The basis of optimism is sheer terror.'_ I think Oscar Wilde may have been on to something there._

"Do you want to grab something to drink before we head to the hotel?" Grissom asked as they headed for the baggage claim.

"No, thanks. Sorry," she said after a brief yawn.

"You're sleepy?" he teased.

"Hey, I actually worked last night."

Grissom smiled as they loaded the rest of their luggage on a pushcart. The convention wouldn't start until tomorrow, but they arrived early to get a chance to adjust to being awake during the day. That meant he'd picked Sara up directly from the lab to go to the airport.

"I thought the hotel was next to the convention center," Sara asked as they approached a car rental booth.

"They're actually connected. But some of the events take place around town. And there's time for other activities. It's built into the schedule. 'Independent review sessions' is entomologicesse for 'Go have fun on company time'. That leaves all day Thursday for entertainment."

"In exciting Toledo," Sara said, raising an eyebrow sarcastically. "Go visit the bakery and watch the buns rise?"

"That's only on Saturday nights," Grissom said, not sure whether he should be pleased when she froze in the middle of the parking area. Catching a reference to an obscure John Denver song wasn't something she expected from him. He gave her a smile as he escorted her to their car. "Bob made plenty of jokes about it when he sent out the schedule."

"Dr. Crothers?"

"Bit of advice – don't call him that. He doesn't like reminders that he's an adult now. At least chronologically," he said lightly.

"You sound like you know him well."

"Too well."

"That's a side of you I never suspected."

"We went to grad school together," Grissom said in mock-indignation. "Bob is _colorful_. He was always getting into trouble. He probably still is. Every few years, we run into each other at conferences. What?"

"Nothing."

"An open-mouth stare usually has a cause."

Sara gave a half-hearted shrug as she got into the car. "I guess I'm not use to you talking. About personal stuff."

_Really? I thought I told you things before. You knew Philip was my mentor, and we didn't get along. I'm sure I've told you things since that. Maybe. _

"I guess I'm not use to having someone to talk to."

"How much of that was your choice?"

"Not as much as you'd think," Grissom said, darting his eyes to find Sara twisted to face him with her arms crossed. She gave him another silent nod before settling back into her seat.

The remainder of the ride to the hotel went in silence. Grissom stole an occasional sideways glance to see if Sara had fallen asleep. She'd been putting in a lot of extra time with her case. If she had, he could drive around town a bit so he wouldn't have to wake her up immediately. But he could see that she wasn't relaxed enough to be asleep.

"Bob will probably want to take us out to dinner tonight. Would you rather stay in and sleep?"

"If I go to bed now, I'll be up in the middle of the night. May as well stay up a bit later," she yawned as they pulled in front of the Radisson. The hotel was nicer than where they usually stayed for conferences, but it was connected to the SeaGate Convention Center. Bob apparently had pulled some strings, hinting the Entomological Society was considering selecting a permanent location for its annual conventions. That got them special rates.

As the clerk checked them in, Grissom reviewed a handful of notes waiting for him. "Your Suite is 410. Turn to the left once you get off the elevator."

"What?" he exclaimed, turning to look at Sara. _She looks pissed._ "We're supposed to be in separate rooms."

"It was an upgrade, sir."

"We're supposed to have separate rooms," he repeated.

"It is a two-bedroom suite, sir."

_How could this happen? Bob. He wouldn't … who am I kidding?_ Grissom frantically flipped through the messages, resting the urge to damn his old colleague when he found the incriminating evidence. "Bob did this," he said, holding out the note towards Sara. "The hotel offered some suites, and he gave us one. Can you switch us back to single rooms?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I we don't have two empty single rooms."

"Find some!"

"Let's go," Sara said tiredly, pulling on his arm. "I haven't had cooties since seventh grade."

Grissom didn't budge, looking at her carefully. He hadn't planned for them to share a suite. _Did she think he'd done this on purpose? Hell, it took all my nerve to get her to the come with me. I certainly wasn't going to shack us up together. She doesn't seem to be very happy. _

"I'm tired, Grissom."

Dropping his arm, Sara made her way to the elevator. After a beat, he followed, wondering if her clipped tone was meant to be a hint.

_TBC_


	3. Ch 3

**No Room To Wiggle  
Summary: **Grissom tricked Sara into going to a conference with him. What's going to happen now that she knows the truth?   
**A/N: **A follow up to my Improve Challenge short story, _Wiggle Room,_ that one of my betas blackmailed me into writing. A few sprinkled spoilers for season four. Thanks to Ann and Marlou for looking over this.   
**Rating:** PG-13 - may change later.  
**Disclaimer:** If I haven't figured out a way to own CSI by now, I'm never going to.

* * *

**Chapter 3 **

If Sara had learned one undisputable fact in all her years as a criminalist, it was that even the best hotel rooms were filthy. After Grissom disappeared into one of the suite's bedrooms, she'd liberally applied nonoxinol-9 to any area she could come in contact with before quickly unpacking.

Moving to the common area to wash out the coffee pot, she surveyed the room. While not up to the standards of a Vegas luxury suite, their accommodations were more than adequate for two people. Hell, the place was considerably larger than the efficiency apartment she lived in. Certainly enough room that Grissom didn't have to feel threatened.

Setting down the pot and moving to the mugs, Sara let out a small growl. Grissom. What the hell was going on there? Things on the plane had been nice, even if he needed to work on his spontaneity. It was obvious he'd thought out possible topics of conversation beforehand. Still, it was comfortable. She missed their talks and suspected Grissom felt the same.

Then they reached the hotel.

Her first reaction on learning that they'd been placed in the same suite was that he was playing another game with her. Grissom's shocked look had settled that. But his continued protestations against sharing a room had quickly gone from endearingly embarrassed to plain insulting.

She shot her eyes to the still-closed bedroom door. It didn't take that long to unpack, and Grissom didn't have that many calls to return. He was hiding. At this rate, she'd have to give his talks in the morning.

When a knock came at the suite's main door, she wondered if he'd ordered in provisions. Well, it didn't matter. They shared a bathroom. He'd have to come out eventually. Even Grissom wasn't that retentive.

Opening the door, she met up with a confused looking visitor. The man was slightly taller than Grissom, and burlier, with a deep olive complexion. Unlike Grissom, patches of his jet-black hair had turned to pure white, skipping gray entirely. The effect made him look like he was in the early stages of Dalmatian.

"I'm so sorry," said the startled man. "You're not Gil."

"No. He's in the other room."

He took a step back, both fluffy eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as he rapidly looked her up and down repeatedly. With an exaggerated shake of his head, he crossed his arms over his chest and grinned wildly.

"You are not Sara Sidle."

Sara mimicked his pose, giving him a wide smirk. She recognized the voice from her phone conversation. Grissom was right – Bob Crothers was colorful.

"Well, she's gonna be pissed that I've been reading her mail all these years."

"Get out of here!"

_If I could …_

"You must be Dr. Crothers."

"Don't call me that!" he whined, scrunching his face up in a playful pout.

"Well, I'm not Sara. We match."

Holding out her hand to him, she was surprised when he ignored it and lifted her off her feet, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. "You have no idea how many years I've been waiting to meet you!"

"Oh, okay. Uh, down, boy, " she stammered, pushing against his shoulders until he set her down. There was friendly, and there was major violations of personal space, but Crothers combined the two with practiced ease. _This was Grissom's friend?_ "We've met. Come on in."

"He-he-he-he-he."

Sara smiled as she led Crothers to the table and chairs in the center of the living area. It wasn't often she met someone who literally cackled. "Coffee?"

"No thanks. I'll get some when we go to dinner. You're Sara Sidle."

"I am? This is getting confusing. I thought I wasn't," she said amicably. "Should I be worried about why you think I'm not?"

"From what Gil described, you weren't what I expected."

"Oh." _What exactly has Grissom been telling his friends about me? Wait, Grissom told his friends about me?_

"I've known Gil since he was still a polliwog. He's been giving seminars forever. Besides the kid that puked over half the audience, he's never once bothered to tell me about a student. Except for you, that is. You made an impression."

_How do you respond to something like that? _

"Just like Puke-Boy. Hold on, I'll tell Grissom you're here," she said, getting up quickly to head to the bedroom door.

Despite her embarrassment, Sara's lips twitched. The way Crothers waggled his eyebrows while emphasizing 'impression' was truly comical. She got the feeling his sheer entertainment value got him out of a lot of socially awkward situations. And this was seriously counting as one, at least from her point-of-view.

She leaned against the wall, watching as Grissom crossed the room to greet his friend. Apparently, handshakes weren't in Crothers' repertoire with friends either. As Grissom stoically withstood the backslapping, Sara grinned. Despite their very different styles, she could tell Grissom was happy to see his friend.

"Enough! You owe us dinner," Grissom finally stated.

Waiting until they were in the elevator, Crothers gave him a lopsided grin. "Me? You should be treating. I got you a suite."

"For that, you're buying all week," Grissom told him dryly.

Crothers' considerable eyebrows moved in a state of momentary confusion, before he shrugged it off. He grinned as he landed a powerful slap across Grissom's shoulders.

"Oh, come on! It's better than Tijuana."

When both men started laughing, Sara turned to Grissom inquisitively.

"Gil never told you about our trip to Tijuana? Oh, that was a story."

"The conference organizer screwed up, didn't reserve enough rooms. It was at the height of tourist season, so we had to share rooms. Sixty-two scientists and six rooms."

"You'd be surprised the number of adults you can fit in a single room, when circumstances dictate it," Crothers added, escorting them to the hotel's restaurant. Through the meal, the two men regaled her with stories from that ill-fated conference. She half-choked on her lasagna when they got to the part about finding bugs in the food provided by the organizers. Instead of disgust, the entomologists had set up mini-expeditions, seeing who could find the best specimen.

"That reminds me, Gil. The poker game is tentatively set for Wednesday night."

"I don't think I'll be joining this year."

Crothers immediately turned to Sara. "Don't you play poker?"

She darted her head between the two of them. Was Grissom turning down the invitation because of her? "Not since college. I wasn't too popular in the poker circles."

"You won all their money," Grissom stated with a small smile, cocking his head in confusion when she gave him an embarrassed smirk.

"We, uh, didn't play for money," she said, waiting until his glass was next to his lips. "It was strip poker."

Her confession didn't draw a spew from Grissom, but she grinned wickedly as he tried to compose himself. "If you want to play, don't worry about me. I'm sure I can find something to do."

"Toledo actually has several attractions. You don't have to check them out alone."

"I was in Paris last month. I picked up some Cluizel," Crothers interrupted, waiting until Grissom turned to him. "Your favorites. An entire case."

"Wine?" Sara asked, noticing that he was tempted by whatever it was.

"Chocolates."

"Chocolate-covered grasshoppers. The best out there," Grissom explained. He turned to give her a curious look. "Do you eat grasshoppers now that you're a vegetarian?"

"Bugs weren't a conscious part of my diet before I became a vegetarian."

"What do you say, Gil?"

"I'll pass."

"You're passing up a chance for Cluizel's?" Crothers asked, leaning back in his chair to waggle his eyebrows at Sara.

"I can get them over the Internet. Besides, you never had a chance."

Sara picked her wine glass to hide her smile. As much as Crothers' innuendo irritated her, Grissom's reaction to it was amusing. He'd given her a brief, panicky look before he'd changed the subject.

"Did Gil tell you he was a killer poker player in college?"

"No, he never told me," Sara answered evenly. She'd heard it from Warrick, when they worked a death at a high-stakes poker game. Come to think of it, Grissom had never told her much about his college days, except how he cooked hot dogs.

"Didn't he tell you any of the stories from college?"

"No, not really."

"Bob, your stories are a lot more interesting," Grissom said coolly, but his friend ignored him as he leaned towards Sara.

"Not even his naked romp in Dr. Smith's office? Dr. Anne Smith?"

"It's not how it sounds," Grissom said quickly when Sara stared at him. "I was in the lab over the weekend, doing some research, when I spilled some chemicals on myself. The safety shower in that lab was broken. Your story with the dean is much more interesting."

"Oh, that! My girlfriend and I had had a fight, so I went to make it up to her. Well, she must have liked my apology, because we ended up doing our bunny rabbit impression there in the organic chem lab when the new dean and his wife walked in during a tour of the labs. Gil's story, now that's funny."

"That's okay," Sara said quickly, noticing a muscle twitch on Grissom's face. Whatever this story was, he didn't want it told.

"It's great. Gil already told you he spilled the chemicals. Practical boy that he was, he stripped down before moving to find another shower. He goes into the next lab, but what he didn't know was that the girls from one of the sororities were using that lab to cram for mid-terms," Crothers guffawed. "I guess they wanted some _special_ tutoring, 'cause they blocked the door, wouldn't let him leave. Dr. Smith had to come rescue him."

Sara turned to Grissom sympathetically, but he kept his eyes focused on the remains of his dinner. For someone as introverted as Grissom, that experience had to be humiliating. His continued silence as he stabbed at a piece of salmon spoke volumes.

"Sounds like the sorority girls I knew. That's why I never joined one," she stated, looking back to Crothers to give him an icy stare. "I thought you said this was a funny story."

"Huh?"

"If you'll excuse me, I had a long day and night. I need to get some rest before the conference tomorrow. It was … nice to meet you," Sara said, exiting the restaurant before Grissom could be further embarrassed.

_Dammit. I know that's a story he never wanted me to hear. He's really going to retreat now. I wonder if we'll even talk the rest of the week. This was our one chance to work on this away from work. If Crothers screwed this up, I'll … dammit! _

Sara was still pacing the room when Grissom entered carrying a small bag. He froze briefly when he saw she was still awake, but gave her a small smile as he approached.

"I thought you might want some dessert. I can put in the fridge if you don't want it now."

"I, uh, thanks. I made some coffee. Want some?" Sara asked quickly. Grissom was still talking to her, and she wanted to make the most of it while it lasted.

"Sure," he said, moving to sink into one of the chairs. He played with the bag's handles until the mug appeared in front of him. "Thank you."

Sara stopped her course for the chair on the opposite side of the table to take the one next to him. Grissom's thanks had been soft, but she knew he wasn't talking about the coffee. She waited until he slid the bagged dessert towards her before speaking.

"Interesting friend you have."

"Bob? He is a nice guy, but Bob has never been embarrassed a day in his life. He doesn't understand that other people don't share that trait.."

She gave him an understanding shrug. Unfortunately, Sara knew the type, but she usually made an effort to avoid them. Sliding out the piece of chocolate-caramel cheesecake, she grinned when she found they'd included two plastic forks in the bag. "Dig in."

When Grissom looked up, she nodded, pushing the slice between them. He gave her a slight smile before taking a small bite.

"So, when are the cockroach races?" she asked after a few silent moments were spent savoring the dessert.

"Preliminaries are in the afternoons, Monday through Wednesday. The finals will be Friday," he said, getting up to rinse out his coffee mug.

"Giving them a day off to rest?"

"Well, most people will be gone on Thursday."

"That's right. 'Have fun on company time' day. What are you planning to do?"

"I was thinking we could head out to Cedar Point."

Sara grinned as she tossed the plate and forks. She couldn't remember the last time Grissom had sounded so nervous. So he did want them to spend some time together. She gave him a grin as he took her coffee mug.

"So, what's at Cedar Point?"

"Roller coasters."

"Roller coasters?"

"Oh, yeah. Cedar Point is the roller coaster capital of the world!" Grissom said excitedly. "Bob's been waiting for years to organize the Entomological Society's convention so we could come here."

"We traveled 1,700 miles so you could ride a roller coaster?" Sara asked as he headed towards his room.

"Actually, 16 roller coasters. And it's a full amusement park. They have other rides."

"Roller coasters?" Sara repeated incredulously.

"I like them. Goodnight."

"Roller coasters?" she said to the now empty room. "He likes roller coasters. Being jerked back and forth and going around in circles … God, that explains a lot."

_TBC_


	4. Ch 4

**No Room To Wiggle  
Summary: **Grissom tricked Sara into going to a conference with him. What's going to happen now that she knows the truth?  
**A/N: **A follow up to my Improve Challenge short story, _Wiggle Room,_ that one of my betas blackmailed me into writing. A few sprinkled spoilers for season four. Thanks to Burked, Ann and Marlou for looking over this.  
**Rating:** PG-13 - may change later.  
**Disclaimer:** If I haven't figured out a way to own CSI by now, I'm never going to.

* * *

**Chapter 4 **

Grissom woke early the next morning and immediately went into damage-control mode. So far, his carefully thought out plan of advancing his relationship with Sara hadn't exactly gone as expected. At every stage, something had gone awry, with last night's public humiliation being the zenith.

Bob really was a good friend, but he was, well … Bob. He honestly didn't understand that other people didn't share his sense of humor or his complete lack of self-consciousness. Grissom never expected him to bring up the sorority story. It had been years since he mentioned it. Of course, all of the people they both knew had already been subjected to it numerous times; Sara had been a fresh – if ultimately unimpressed – audience.

Gathering his clothes, Grissom scowled at the memory. After nearly 30 years of friendship, he'd learned the easiest way of dealing with Bob's stories was to let him get it over with and move to the next subject. He feared Sara would take his silent submission as a sign of weakness, or be disappointed in him, especially considering she'd come to his defense, but that didn't appear to be the case.

Still, her leaving the meal early had shot his plans of asking her to join him in an after-dinner stroll. The convention center and their hotel were beside the Maumee River. Grissom was certain they would have been able to find a bistro or coffee shop where they could sit and talk, rebuild the foundations of their friendship.

Not to be deterred, he'd inquired at the reception desk the night before and gotten a list of diners and bakeries in the area that opened early. From what he remembered of the meals at conventions, breakfasts tended to run heavy on pork products. He would grab them a vegetarian-friendly meal, brew some fresh coffee, and have his surprise ready for Sara before she woke up.

He opened the door to the communal area carefully, not wanting to awaken Sara before he returned. Padding across the darkened room silently, Grissom started when a voice called out, "Hey."

Turning around, he found Sara hunched over the laptop. The remnants of an individual serving-sized box of cereal and a banana peel rested on the table in front of her. So much for his idea of a romantic breakfast.

"I've double-checked your presentations. If the computer in the conference room acts up, this is ready to go as a backup."

"You didn't have to do that," Grissom said, suddenly very aware of the fact he was standing there in nothing but his underwear. Worse, a small voice in the back of his mind insisted on pointing out that he hadn't checked his boxers for holes. That was insane. He hadn't bought new underwear for the trip, but it wasn't like his clothes were threadbare.

"I'm supposed to be your assistant. I should be doing something," Sara said with a hint of annoyance, but smiling when she looked up and noticed his lack of attire.

"Right," Grissom said softly, holding his clothes in front of him, and resuming his trip to the bathroom, his mind on the lookout for unexpected and embarrassing drafts.

"Help yourself. I picked up some food last night. Never know what's going to be at these catered meals."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"You were?"

Grissom froze by the table. Sara had really sounded surprised that he remembered her dietary preferences. Oh, this definitely wasn't going well. Thinking quickly, he decided the time was ripe for a compliment.

"You look nice," he said after taking in her soft-gray suit.

"So, is it the color or the cut?"

Again Grissom froze, turning around with a baffled expression. Sara seemed amused, but her question had lost him. The cut or color of what? Was this some sort of code women used? That was one area he had a noticeable lack of understanding. Was this another of those mysteries, like why women went to the bathroom en masse?

"Both times you told me I looked nice, I was wearing this outfit," she chuckled when he continued to gape uncomprehendingly at her.

"Oh," he responded, hoping his confusion hadn't been evident. Had he only told her twice? Considering Sara's voracious memory, he wasn't going to contradict her. Was there a minimum frequency for giving compliments? Deciding to err on the side of caution, Grissom offered her another one. "You have nice legs."

He resumed his trip to the restroom, smiling broadly when she offered a flattered "Thanks". He'd made it most of the way there when an amused, "So do you" followed. Turning quickly, Grissom bumped into the edge of the counter, hoping Sara was too far away to hear the sound of his boxers ripping as they snagged on the corner.

Smiling sheepishly, he rapidly sidled the rest of the way into the bathroom, letting out a groan when he closed the door.

* * *

If Sara knew about his boxer rebellion, she never mentioned it in the suite or when she joined him in the dining area later that morning. While he foraged among the steam trays, she gathered their up-to-date schedules, handouts and complimentary containers. She held out one of the mystery jars to him, raising an eyebrow when he excitedly dumped part of the contents over his breakfast.

"Red ants. Great on eggs," he said, smiling when she tossed her container to him with a look of mock-horror. He settled into a happy meal as they chatted in between interruptions from his colleagues. Even though they weren't a couple, Grissom felt a flush of pride every time he introduced her to a friend.

One friend who didn't stop to talk was Crothers, who directed an annoyed look their way.

"I think I insulted Bob last night," she said apologetically, tracking the convention organizer as he disappeared deeper into the room.

"I don't think that's actually possible," Grissom added truthfully, chortling when his friend returned with a plate loaded down with donuts and fruit.

"I didn't know how deeply you're in denial of your omnivorous nature," Crothers chided Sara. "Gil, you can't let her skip meals. She's too skinny."

"I already ate," Sara explained in annoyance as the entomologist moved towards the next group.

Knowing he lacked a safe response to that exchange, Grissom quickly shoveled food into his mouth. When Sara turned to him with a challenging expression, he shrugged and pointed to his chewing jaws. The toothy grin she flashed him made Grissom's heart race.

Sara knew that he had ulterior motives for asking her to the conference. She might even know what they were. But she still agreed to attend, and despite all the setbacks in his plans, things seemed to be going well between them. There hadn't been this level of ease between them in years.

He didn't even mind when a scowling figure sauntered towards them. When he ran his eyes over Sara lecherously, however, Grissom did get upset. "Bring a 'friend', Caudal?"

"An assistant who happens to be a materials expert, Malcolm. She's here to help with my presentations," Grissom replied coolly. "Sara Sidle, this is Malcolm McLeery. He's a teacher."

"Professor of entomology at Plymouth State College, head of the New Hampshire Lepidopterists' Association, and past director of publications for the Entomological Society," he corrected snidely. "Your credentials?"

"Not much," Sara said with a shrug and an innocent smile. "Magna cum laude from Harvard, graduate degree from Berkeley."

"Humph. Healthy breakfast," McLeery snorted sarcastically, giving Grissom an evil look as he left. "See you around, Caudal."

"Caudal?" Sara asked lightly as she pushed the untouched food towards her companion.

"Some insects, like dragonflies, have a set of caudal gills," Grissom explained. "Caudal. Gil."

"Ah," Sara said, nodding her head as she picked up her juice. "Caudal. Pertaining to the tail or the, uh, posterior?"

Grissom let out a sigh as he set his fork down. "If you're asking if that's his clever way of calling me an ass in public, yes."

"I never said he was clever," Sara pointed out with a smile. "So, what's the deal with you two?"

"I received an award he wanted back in college."

"And he still holds a grudge?" Sara asked.

"It was prestigious."

"But you never mentioned it before."

Grissom considered his response as he chewed. Luckily, the eggs were somewhat rubbery, so it gave him plenty of time. Sara was watching him closely. He didn't think her curiosity had to do with the award, but with his reasons for not discussing it. It wasn't the first time during the trip that she'd questioned him; maybe she wanted to see how open he was willing to be. Unfortunately, there wasn't really any clear reason why he never talked about it before.

"It was a long time ago," he finally offered as he gathered up their dishes.

"Does that make it any less prestigious?"

"Maybe less pertinent. Or interesting. At the time, you would have been very young."

"Prohibition occurred before I was born. So did both World Wars, the Renaissance, the invention of the wheel and sliced bread. Time hasn't dimmed the impact of any of those."

"I'm not sure my getting that award ranks with those. Well, maybe sliced bread. How hard is it to slice bread?" he asked with a confused expression.

Sara laughed lightly, giving him another grin as they made their way to the conference room where Grissom would be giving his first talk. "I'm just saying that you've had an interesting life."

"This coming from the woman who's a member of the Mile High Club," Grissom said skeptically.

"I said interesting, not a dumb mistake," she replied, quickly scanning the room to make sure none of the early stragglers were close enough to overhear their conversation.

"You think that incident was a dumb mistake?"

"Maybe. Telling you about it? Pretty sure about that," she said, her smile not completely diluting the seriousness in her voice.

Grissom waited until another acquaintance offered her greetings before stepping closer to Sara as she checked out the computerized projector. If he'd offended Sara in some way, he wanted to know the details so he could hopefully avoid a repeat performance. "Why?"

"I think it gave you the wrong impression. That was one time, in college. It's not really me. I'm not a sex fiend. Not a party animal. I'm actually, uh, pretty tame, in my tastes. That way."

"So am I," Grissom admitted, moving away to talk to another colleague before Crothers gave the introduction to officially start the conference.

Any qualms Grissom had with social interactions died when he was behind a podium. This was his world, and he excelled in it. Usually, his talks were to fellow criminalists, and he needed to explain the bugs. But among his fellow entomologists, the forensics needed to be explained. Grissom made sure to direct a number of the questions to Sara, smiling as she easily clarified different aspects of their job.

Even McLeery was unable to trip her up as he grilled her about a seeming contradiction in one of the cases. Normally, Grissom would have been impressed if a criminalist had caught the paradox, but coming from his nemesis, it sounded forced. He shot Sara a beaming smile full of pride once McLeery conceded her point.

His second talk went much the same as the first. Afterwards, he quietly whispered explanations to Sara during the lectures they attended. Lunch was a busy affair, with no time or opportunity to continue their earlier, personal conversation.

The final talk of the day was also Grissom's last talk. Unlike the first two, this one had nothing to do with forensics, but was a study of competing beetles. The influx of irrigation and imported plants had brought non-native species into southern Nevada. His use of clips from 1950s-era horror movies to highlight the struggle had even Sara laughing.

Once finished, Grissom quickly excused himself to retrieve his racing roaches from their suite, feeling a bit uncomfortable to find Sara the center of attention among his friends when he returned. From the look she directed at him, he surmised she wasn't enjoying the situation.

With a hurried excuse about the bug races, Grissom pulled Sara along with him. "You don't have to attend if you don't want to."

"And miss the opportunity to be a cheerleader for a hissing cockroach?"

"Good luck charm," he corrected, smiling that she was willing to attend. This was good. One thing he hoped to accomplish this week was to show Sara it was possible to have outside interests from work. The bug races, his research on invading species and the roller coaster excursions were his examples.

"I thought we covered that already. Not that lucky," she smirked.

"Definitely charming, though," he said, escorting a stunned Sara into the race area.

His proclamation seemed to have been accurate, as all three of his roaches managed to qualify for the next round.

"Started doping your roaches, Gil?" a tall blonde asked teasingly.

"Cheryl! You haven't escaped yet?"

"No, but it looks like you've been caught," she replied lightly as Sara made her way to join them.

"Sara, this is Bob's wife, Cheryl. Sara Sidle."

"Your protégée. It's nice to finally meet you. We've heard so much about you over the years."

Grissom felt a cold sweat start down his back as Sara slowly turned her head to stare at him. After a moment, her lips started twitching as she directed her attention back to the other woman.

"I'm not nearly as homicidal as he tells people."

"That's good to know! I won't have to worry about leaving my drink unattended at dinner tonight. You two will be joining us, won't you? It's the social highlight of the conference, Sara. We've been trying to get Gil to attend every year."

"We hadn't discussed it yet," Grissom said quickly, noticing that Sara was once again staring at him.

"Well, it's at the Center of Science and Industry in about two hours. They rent out the place for parties. It's only a few blocks away. I need to go find Bob before he gets himself into more trouble. He has managed to get himself into trouble already, hasn't he? Who am I kidding? Of course he has. Sara, it was nice to meet you. I hope we can talk some more later."

"Bye," Sara replied, giving Grissom an inquisitive look.

"Every year, the first night of the convention includes a dinner at a local venue," he began explaining as they made their way to the elevators. "Since the conference lasts a week, a lot of the attendees bring their spouses or significant others. There's always a dance."

"And you've never gone stag?"

"I used to. With a friend, Mary Lou Malone, but she died about 10 years ago. We don't have to go. That's not why I asked you to attend."

"I don't mind going," Sara reassured him as they approached their room. "But I'm not much of a dancer."

"Nor am I. But it's basic stuff. The Electric Duck is strictly forbidden."

"Chicken."

"No. That's not a dance. It's a ritual of public humiliation," he stated, wondering why Sara started laughing.

"The Electric Chicken is the dance. And I agree with you. It should be banned everywhere. And I still can't dance."

"It's really not hard. You go around in small circles, trying not to bump into other couples."

"You say that like it's easy," Sara said.

"You make it sound hard," he teased.

She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. "You might have a point. A lot of things aren't as difficult as people imagine they'll be. Once they're willing to trust, to try, things can be good."

Grissom acknowledged her statement with a brief nod, quickly putting his bugs away. Returning to the living room area of the suite, he found Sara staring at the floor. His suspicions that she had been referring to more than dancing seemed to be true.

"The problem is that some times, things that seem like they'll be easier, turn out to be more difficult than you could ever imagine."

"It doesn't really matter, then," Sara answered with a resigned huff.

"Hold on." Grissom raised an eyebrow playfully before scanning the room quickly. Finding the small radio, he tried to find a station playing music. Then he tried to find a station that played music that he considered danceable. He turned quickly when light jazz began playing behind him.

Sara stood by the laptop, holding up an empty CD case, giving him a bashful shrug. Holding out his hand Grissom stepped into the middle of the room, never breaking eye contact until Sara's hand slipped into his.

"The first thing to do is get comfortable," he said softly, slipping his free arm around her. "Comfortable?"

Again, their gazes locked. His question referred to more than their stances, and Sara's slow nod confirmed she knew that.

"Very," she breathed out.

"Good."

"So far," she replied. "What's next?"

"Small steps. That's the key. Just take small steps."

"Right."

"Let it come of its own accord. Don't rush it; don't force it," Grissom whispered, enjoying the sensation as his hand slowly massaged the small of her back. "Let the rhythm come naturally."

"Not rushing. Natural."

Grissom licked his lips nervously as he guided them in the slow dance. While their steps became more relaxed as they progressed, the physical tension between them grew until it was almost palpable. When he tugged slightly, Sara willingly moved closer to him until he could feel her breath on his neck.

Leaning his head back, Grissom watched her intently. She matched his expression as he brought her hand to his chest, then moved his hand to her waist, where it joined its partner in a tender exploration. He closed his eyes briefly when her long fingers began to play over his suit jacket.

They didn't stop their gentle twirling when the CD moved to the next song, but moved even closer together until Grissom could feel her body's warmth. Looking into her eyes, he felt himself drawn into their dark depths. Seemingly of its own accord, his head moved forward, tilting slightly to line his lips to hers.

Sara's hands moved towards the center of his chest then up to his shoulders where she pushed.

"Don't," she whispered, turning around as she walked away from him.

TBC


	5. Ch 5

**No Room To Wiggle  
Summary: **Grissom tricked Sara into going to a conference with him. What's going to happen now that she knows the truth?  
**A/N: **A follow up to my Improve Challenge short story, _Wiggle Room,_ that one of my betas blackmailed me into writing. A few sprinkled spoilers for season four. Thanks to Burked, Ann and Marlou for looking over this.  
**Rating:** PG-13 - may change later.  
**Disclaimer:** If I haven't figured out a way to own CSI by now, I'm never going to.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Sara took a deep breath, rubbing her temples as she tried to ground herself. Her palms were sweating, her heart racing, she was light-headed and everything was spinning around her. She was the walking definition of giddy, a fact that irked her. No rational person over the age of 14 got giddy over a near-kiss.

_It's not the kiss that's doing this. _

What had started as a simple dance rapidly spiraled out of control. The attraction between them had been undeniable. She literally felt herself drawn to Grissom. There were no doubts in her mind that if she had allowed the kiss, they wouldn't have stopped until they finished a far more primal dance.

That thought was terrific – as in it inspired terror.

As much as she wanted to continue, Sara needed to know exactly what it was they were continuing. It wasn't so much that they were moving too fast, but that she had no idea where they were heading. She had too many questions to blindly dive into this.

Turning around, she found her would-be lover standing exactly where she left him, his mouth slightly open. His eyes were dark with conflicting emotions, hurt and fear being among the clearest._ Oh, damn_.

Recalling the overheard confession he'd made months earlier, Sara knew Grissom was afraid that she wouldn't return his affections. He couldn't be taking this well. Licking her lips, she gave him a rueful smile as she moved back towards him.

"Sorry. Small steps, remember?"

Grissom's eyes slowly traveled to the hand she rested reassuringly on his arm. After a beat, they moved equally slowly back to study her face. His head tilted as he wordlessly examined her expression, looking for any signs of hesitation.

"You're not … upset?" he asked cautiously.

"No."

Inching his hands toward her waist, his deer-in-the-headlights look gradually faded when she didn't pull back. Instead, the corners of his lips curved upwards as he drew her into an embrace.

Sara smiled against his shoulder as he held onto her tightly. They could talk later; right now, this was something they both needed. She could feel the tension draining from his body as he realized she wasn't rejecting him or his advances outright. The open sign of emotion, even if he hadn't vocalized his feelings, was a major admission from Grissom.

She closed her eyes when he brought a hand up to brush a lock of hair from her face and over her ear, then moving to caress her cheek. The warmth of his breath on the lobe sent tingles down the length of her neck.

"I won't rush you," he promised lowly, tracing his fingers down her jaw line to cup her chin. When his head ducked down to brush his lips lightly against hers, Sara's eyes opened widely before she closed them again as she returned the kiss.

Grissom loosened his hold on Sara, giving her a smile as he stepped back, symbolically showing he was serious about not rushing. She blinked twice before dropping her head. If she had been giddy before, no thesaurus existed that could describe her current state of mind. The kiss had been fleeting and non-threatening, a hint of what was to come and a promise to be patient. Basically, it sent her head and heart on their own personal roller coaster ride.

Looking up, she found Grissom watching with amusement, but his stance showed he was still a bit nervous. They seriously needed to talk, but she also wanted to reassure him before they started.

"Wow," was what came out. Giving her head a shake, she wondered how to begin. "Water."

Grissom watched as she marched to the fridge, declining when she held a bottle out for him.

"I need water," Sara explained before draining a large amount from the bottle. It did little to help her regain her emotional balance. With a confused look, she cocked her head and stared at him. "What's going on? Between us."

"We kissed?" Grissom offered lightly.

"Yeah. But here? Now? Why?"

"Why not?"

"I'm serious."

Grissom's eyebrow rose as he leaned against the table, crossing his arms as he did so. "So am I," he said slowly, picking his words carefully. "The timing seemed right. We're away from Vegas. There's no pressure from work."

"That's the problem."

"I'm confused," he said with a baffled expression.

"At least we're on the same page," Sara exhaled. "Grissom, that kiss was great. I mean really great. And I want to see where it was leading. But I don't want a fling."

"Neither do I," he replied, obviously hurt by the accusation. "Do you really think that's all I want?"

"That's the problem," she admitted sadly. "I have no idea what you're thinking. You've built these walls around you. You've closed yourself off from everyone. I don't know what you want. I only know what I want to believe. And I know what the evidence tells me."

Grissom remained silent for a moment before moving to a pair of upholstered chairs sitting in front of the suite's plate-glass window. He stood there, waiting for Sara to join him before sinking into one of them.

"What do you want to believe and what does the evidence tell you?" he asked softly.

Sara played with the water bottle in her hand, slowly peeling the label off. This wasn't going to be easy, but it had to be done. They couldn't move forward until they dealt with the past. With a long sigh, she leaned back against the chair.

"What I want to believe? That – finally – I found a guy that I could really care about. Seriously, I mean. Someone who would feel the same way. Who'd accept me for who I am. Who wanted to be happy with me."

When Grissom slipped his hand over hers, Sara looked up sadly, prompting him to stare quizzically.

"That's what I wanted. And what I found out? He feels the same way. He wants to be with me. That he does care. But I'm not as important to him as his job. That he _couldn't_ take a risk on me."

Sara waited as realization slowly hit Grissom. He pulled his hand back as he leaned into the cushions. The panicked look returned as he rubbed his beard frantically.

"I don't know what Brass told you…"

"Nothing," she said softly. "I was there. In the observation room."

Sara watched as Grissom rested his elbows on his knees, dropping his head into his hands.

"That's not what I said."

"Grissom, I was there! I heard you," she said, fighting back her anger and frustration. "Don't try to lie about it."

"I'm not," he insisted, holding out his hands. "Sara, I never said the job was more important. Look, what I said, if I knew you were listening, I…"

"You never would have said a thing?" she stated, standing up quickly and crossing her arms over her chest as she fought back the tears.

"No. Sara, wait. Let me finish. Please," he implored, moving behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders. "That isn't how I wanted you to find out. I hadn't slept in days. I can't do that like you can. I wasn't thinking straight."

"You're denying what you said?"

"No. I know what I said. I can … imagine … how it must have sounded to you. What I meant was something else," he said adamantly, gently turning her around to face him.

Sara searched his face carefully, noticing the beseeching look in his eyes. "Tell me. Explain it to me."

"The job is safe," Grissom answered.

"And I'm not."

"You're dangerous. To me, personally. This, all of this, is a little scary. I don't think you understand that."

"I understand fear more than you know," Sara said, pulling out his grasp. Walking across the room, she tossed the empty bottle away, resting her arms against the counter.

"What are you talking about?" Grissom asked. When she didn't answer, he moved beside her, resting a hand on her back. "Sara?"

"I don't think you want to know," she replied honestly. "Mouth got ahead of the brain there."

"That isn't exactly reassuring for me."

"Grissom, it's my problem, okay. Forget it."

"If it affects us, isn't it our problem?"

"Since when have you been Mr. Sensitive?" she asked, smiling to cover the sarcastic tinge that crept into her response.

"Since I decided to … court you."

"Oh."

_Since when? Did he say? That is Grissom, isn't it? He's not backing down. Well, damn. He is serious. Gotta give him credit – when he finally does decide to do something, he goes all the way. _

_Oh, I gotta learn to watch what I say around him. How do I get out of this? What's wrong with honesty? Like Grissom can handle that. Shit! Look at him. He's not going to drop this. This is something I have to work through. We were going to have to talk about it eventually, but I wanted things to be stronger between us before that happened. I hope I don't screw this up. _

"_This_ really scares me, too," she said softly. "The way I handle it. Well, I guess the way I don't handle it. Grissom, I have had it for you for a long time, and I couldn't get over you even when it was clear you weren't interested."

"I was always interested."

Sara turned to him, smiling forlornly.

"Yeah, but look how you acted. You pushed me away, isolated me from the others, basically treated me like shit, publicly, privately and professionally. And I stood for it. What does that say about me? And you know what's really scary? That's the way you treated me when you … cared for me. Grissom, what are you going to be like if you stop caring? Will I be able to walk away then?"

As Sara feared, he didn't react to her confession well. But instead of being angry, he staggered slowly backwards, as if she'd slapped him physically.

"Grissom?" she asked worriedly when he stumbled into the table, reaching out to grab his arm.

"Stay away," he snarled.

When he jerked his arm away, Sara caught a brief glimpse of his face. The depth of the self-loathing in his eyes scared her.

_Dammit. He already identified too much with that psycho. Now he thinks I feel the same way. Shit. I have to fix this. Now. _

Moving around him, she planted her hands on his chest, effectively stopping his retreat towards his bedroom. Grissom acted like he was going to brush her arms away, but dropped his hands before he touched her.

"You. Are. Not. Lurie!" Sara half-shouted, causing him to glance up. The pain in his eyes made her heart ache. "You're not. I know you'd never …, I know you're not him."

"Let me go," he demanded weakly.

"Don't shut me out. Not until we talk about this. Dammit," she swore when a knock came at the door. Before she could stop him, Grissom jumped on the opportunity to escape their talk. He rapidly moved to open it, revealing the Crothers chatting with another couple.

"God, Gil. You look sick," Bob said as he moved in.

"I feel that way," Grissom said hoarsely.

"I told you not to eat that chicken at lunch. I don't care if they called it 'herb-crusted' or not, chicken shouldn't be green. You're going to have the worst case of the…"

"Bob, hush," his wife told him.

"Well, some of us were going to head over to COSI before dinner, check out some of the exhibits. If you don't want to go…"

"No. You go ahead. I'll catch up later," Grissom said before retreating to the bathroom.

Sara stood in the suite's communal area, biting the inside of her lip as she forced a smile at the other couples. Their timing couldn't have been worse. She turned her head towards the bathroom door, wondering what Grissom was thinking.

"Come on," Bob said, grabbing Sara's elbow and pulling her along. "Give a man some privacy as he evacuates foul fowl from his colon."

"Bob, you have such a way with words," Cheryl said, directing an eye roll at Sara when her husband was flattered.

Sara gave a last look towards the room where Grissom was hiding. A scene was the last thing that they needed. He said he'd be along later, robbing her of an excuse to hang back.

On the walk to the Center of Science and Industry, Sara was vaguely aware that the Crothers were having a disagreement over what were acceptable dinner conversation topics, with Bob getting more dejected as his favorite stories were rejected one after the other. If asked, she doubted if she could recall what any of the forbidden topics were, being more concerned for Grissom.

_Maybe this is for the best. A little cooling off period, a bit of a breather. Give Grissom a few minutes to be by himself, let him think about what I said. _

_Right. And Bob is actually bashful, but covers it well._

_He had to know that what he did hurt me, but I don't think it ever registered on Grissom how painful it was. God, he was afraid to touch me. I hope he doesn't think I'm afraid of him physically. I know he'd never be like that. _

_What? Huh? She asked me something. _

"Sorry. Lost in my thoughts," Sara said when Cheryl pulled her aside.

"Self-defense mode. Spend enough times around Bob's jokes, and it becomes second nature," the blonde deadpanned as she led Sara along a row of displays. The older woman gave her a friendly smile. "It takes a special kind of person to become an expert in entomology. I think each stage requires the elimination of more social skills."

"Then Malcolm must be the Bug King," Sara said as they passed the obnoxious scientist who was arguing with a pre-teen child over the number of bones in a dinosaur skeleton.

"There's an exception to every rule. Earlier I asked you how long you knew Gil."

"We met when I was in grad school. He gave a seminar in forensics."

"And you kept in touch after that?"

"Yeah. He sent me articles, let me know about a job opening in San Francisco," Sara replied, curious about the line of questioning. If Grissom had in fact been talking about her to his friends, they should have known that. "Why?"

"There's always been something sad about Gil," she sighed. "I mean he's always seemed so alone. He's not an easy man to get to get close to. Bob has known him forever, and he doesn't know much, except to never ask about Gil's father. That subject makes him angry."

"I don't know what I could tell you," Sara said in confusion. Even if Grissom had confided anything to her, she wouldn't have shared information he didn't want public knowledge.

"I wouldn't expect you to. Gil trusts you. I just wanted you to know how rare that is. Oh, good heavens. I better go bail Bob out of trouble. He really is lovable. Sometimes. I'll save you and Gil seats at our table."

"Thanks."

Sara wound her way through the exhibitions, barely noticing what she was observing as she processed the information. Would he still trust her after this evening? She hated telling him her fears, but Grissom needed to know. She wanted desperately for their relationship to proceed, but he couldn't keep hurting her.

When the call for dinner sounded, Sara looked around the area reserved for the Entomological Society for Grissom, but couldn't see him anywhere. After everyone was seated, it became clear he hadn't arrived, prompting an uncomfortable barrage of questions from the other table occupants. Bob quickly squelched the questions – and some appetites – with his foul fowl theories.

As the meal progressed, Sara's embarrassment quickly switched to concern. Grissom still hadn't arrived. The walk from the hotel wasn't far, but that didn't mean something hadn't happened to him.

_Or he's not coming. Just how upset is he? _

Sara paid polite comments to her dinner companions as photographs of children and grandchildren were passed around, wondering if Grissom regretted being the one person among his circle of friends who seemingly never started a family.

As soon as she could, Sara excused herself from the party, explaining she wanted to check on Grissom. Walking to the hotel, she looked for any signs that a recent accident or mugging had taken place. Relieved to find none, she quickly made her way to their suite, calling out his name as she entered.

Silence greeted her. Both the bathroom and his bedroom were empty. His luggage was still there, so he hadn't returned to Vegas. Dashing into her room, Sara pulled out her cell phone, growling when his rang from his bedroom. So much for calling him.

On a hunch, Sara headed to the hotel's lounge, declining the drink offers from a slightly- intoxicated businessman. When he started to follow her, offering obscene suggestions, she gave his chest a firm shove, stating she was in law enforcement. He backed away angrily, grumbling about "uppity bitches".

Sara ignored the insult, looking around for Grissom. She wasn't surprised when she didn't find him. No matter how upset he was, Sara knew the drunk's advances would have brought out Grissom's protective side. Lost in her own thoughts, she returned to the suite silently.

Sitting down in a chair, she let out a long sigh. This was Grissom. He was upset, but he wouldn't do anything rash. He probably needed some time alone. Besides, in a strange town she had no idea where to start looking for him.

After brewing a pot of coffee, she grabbed a paperback novel she brought with her. After reading five pages and not remembering any of it, she tossed the book aside. Maybe he had gone to COSI; if he had crossed over at a different intersection, she could have passed him without realizing it. If that were the case, he'd be back later.

She tried watching television, flipping between movies, the news and a documentary on the Discovery Channel. All along, she kept checking the time. With a resigned air, she headed to her room, grabbing her nightclothes before making a beeline to the shower. She was tense, and a long, hot shower seemed like a godsend at the moment.

As she let the water massage her muscles, Sara considered her course of action. She needed to make Grissom understand that she was concerned, but that she didn't see him as a threat. That he'd hurt her with his past actions, but she was willing to try. That she knew he'd never physically harm her.

God, if she thought that was a possibility, she would have never agreed to come to Toledo with him. Sara decided that might be the best direction to go. He knew she reacted strongly to those types of cases. Point out that she knew he wasn't someone who would be physically abusive.

With a sigh, she dried off and changed into her pajamas. Gathering her clothes, she turned out the light behind her. The entire suite was dark, but she could see that the door to Grissom's room was still open.

Walking into her own bedroom, Sara yelped as she stumbled into the arms of a man.

_TBC_


	6. Ch 6

**No Room To Wiggle   
Summary: **Grissom tricked Sara into going to a conference with him. What's going to happen now that she knows the truth?   
**A/N: **A follow up to my Improve Challenge short story, _Wiggle Room,_ that one of my betas blackmailed me into writing. A few sprinkled spoilers for season four. Thanks to Burked for her beta skills. All errors are mine.  
**Rating:** PG-13 - may change later.   
**Disclaimer:** If I haven't figured out a way to own CSI by now, I'm never going to.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

"Wait," Grissom coughed out before doubling over. His plea came too late to prevent the elbow to his stomach. It did give Sara enough warning to pull the punch headed for his jaw, though, and the blow that landed did minimal damage. But he was already off-balanced, and with another grunt, he staggered against the bed before sliding ungracefully to the floor.

"Grissom? Shit!"

After she stumbled over his legs, a bedside lamp turned on, flooding the room with light. Blinking repeatedly, Grissom tried to figure out why he was seeing sheep.

_Sheep? I thought people saw stars in these types of situations. This is interesting. I wonder if there are any papers about … Damn. How hard did she hit me? She wasn't kidding about knowing weaponless defense. _

Giving his head a slow shake, his mind pieced the puzzle together. Sara stood over him wearing only a pair of thin, pink pajamas. Pajamas covered in a motif of frolicking sheep. That confounded him; the nightwear didn't match any of his preconceptions. Flushing, Grissom recalled that his thoughts along those lines were geared towards his own pleasure, not necessarily reality.

"Did I hurt you?" Sara asked in concern as she knelt beside him. "I'm so sorry."

When she reached a hand towards his chin, Grissom turned his head away from the caress. Any feelings of embarrassment or hurt pride paled in comparison to his self-condemnation – her rapid breath confirmed that he'd frightened her.

_Again. _

He'd spent the evening wandering the streets of Toledo, trying to process Sara's revelations about her fears. At some level, Grissom always knew his treatment of her was less-than-stellar, but he'd never been aware how deeply he'd hurt her.

_Or I wouldn't acknowledge it. Which is worse: That I didn't know I was hurting her, or that I didn't care enough to stop? _

Avoidance had served Grissom well – possibly too well – for a number of years, but he could no longer deny the consequences of his actions. Out of fear, he'd hurt the one woman he'd ever loved. While she'd stood by him in the past, Sara was now openly questioning how much more she could tolerate from him.

That only fed his self-doubts; at some point, she was going to realize that she would be happier without him. She would eventually leave him. It had been hard enough denying himself her company. Having to learn to live alone again would be too much.

It would be better to end things now.

_Better for whom? Don't you mean safer? Just admit it – you're afraid. _

Grissom grimaced as he shifted into a more comfortable position, still trying to catch his own breath. When a hand rested on his arm and another began to stroke his cheek, his eyes snapped open.

Sara had shifted position, moving closer to him. She watched him intently, discreetly trying to determine if his injuries extended beyond his male ego. He could see the nervousness joining the worry in her eyes.

"Grissom?"

"I'm sorry," he said, closing his eyes in shame. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Well, you did!" she said in mock-anger, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "You okay?"

When he didn't respond, Sara sat beside him, leaving one hand resting on his arm. "Well, I said I was sorry. I didn't know who was in here. For all I knew, you were that creep from the hotel bar."

"What creep?" he asked suddenly, concern overwhelming his other emotions.

"Don't worry about it. Just a drunk. And I was only in there looking for you, so don't get any stupid ideas."

"Oh."

"We were worried when you didn't show up for dinner," she added when he closed his eyes again and leaned back against the mattress.

"I went for a walk."

"Where? Back to Vegas?"

Grissom detected the worry behind her joking tone. It only made him feel worse. After all that had happened, she was concerned about him. Opening his eyes, he shrugged noncommittally. "I needed to think about things. By the time I realized how late it was, the dinner was already over."

"Grissom," she sighed, giving his arm another squeeze. "About earlier. I'm sorry for that, too. That really didn't come out the way I meant."

"You don't have to take it back…"

"I'm not," she stated firmly, but giving him a half-smile. "I'm clarifying it."

"I thought you were pretty clear," he said sadly, getting to his feet and heading towards the door.

"You're wrong. I was wrong ... the way I said it," she said, moving up behind him.

Grissom paused, resisting when Sara's arm urged him to turn around. This was going to be hard enough. He didn't need to see her expression. He didn't want to see her expression. Despite his dark mood, he almost smiled when she settled the issue by planting herself between him and the door. She was tenacious.

"Grissom, wait. I said something stupid. Get used to it. I do it more often than I like," she said, giving him a self-depreciating grin.

"Sara, don't…"

"No. I … the way I feel about you is so strong. I've never felt that way. Ever. I don't always understand it. That confuses me. But I know you'd never be like Lurie. I'm not afraid of you."

"Maybe you should be," he hinted darkly.

"I'm not."

Grissom's head went back at the force of her statement. The loving look directed his way was enough to take his breath away again. Dropping his head, he closed his eyes, sensing she was shaking her own head at him.

"So what the hell were you doing in here? Besides trying to give me a heart attack?" she teased.

"I left that for you," he replied, pointing to an envelope on the bedside table, hoping she'd retrieve it. He didn't want to be there any longer. Being in her bedroom was too uncomfortable; it hurt to realize how close they'd come to sharing a room, to moving their relationship to a point he only dreamed about. And knowing that his letter would put an end to that dream forever.

"What is it?" Sara asked suspiciously, cocking her head as she looked around him. She made no move to let him escape.

"Some things you deserve to know."

"Like what?"

"Read it," Grissom sighed sadly. Why couldn't she let him go? All he wanted was to go to his own room and figure out how he was going to get through the rest of this week. Once back in Vegas, he could figure out what he'd do for the rest of his life. "It'll explain."

"I think I'd rather have you tell me," Sara said softly, looking at him cautiously.

Grissom huffed out a breath slowly and walked back to the table. He took the envelope and turned around, finding Sara again blocking his retreat. With a shake of his head, he placed the envelope in her hands. "What I said to Lurie, the way it sounded … I never would have said it that way if I knew you were listening."

"Yeah, I figured that much out on my own," she said sarcastically, giving him a playful nudge with her shoulder.

He grunted, wishing she'd just read the letter. All his explanations and reasons were logically spelled out within it. He didn't want to try and vocalize them. It had been easier to write his thoughts out, sitting at a rented computer in a Kinko's he found on the way back to the hotel.

_It was easier because I didn't have to face her. This is going to hurt her. She'll probably blame herself for admitting her concerns. I don't want to see that pain. Pain that I caused. _

_But this is for the best, right? So why can't I look her in the eyes? _

Grissom took a deep breath, forcing himself to hold her gaze. “The job is important to me. It's been a constant in my life. No matter what happened, I knew I could always count on having my work, my reputation, that respect."

"You don't want to risk that. I understand that."

"No, it's not that. Not entirely. I've had other jobs. I never thought Las Vegas would be the last one I had. Finding another one wouldn't be hard. So, I wasn't picking the job over you. It's … work is safe," he said, rubbing his beard in consternation. "The letter really explained this so much better."

"Okay, I'll read it later," Sara said, stepping closer to him. He tried to move away, but he was already by the nightstand. Sensing his discomfort, she stepped to the side. "I know this is, uh, scary. I won't hurt you, Grissom. We can make this work."

_No, no, no! Don't say that. She doesn't understand. Well, I can't put this off any longer. God, at least look her in the eye. _

"No. We can't," he whispered, forcing himself to face her. One eyebrow rose in surprise. Hadn't he said it loud enough? She was grinning at him indulgently. "I said…"

"I heard. You're overreacting," she said with a small shrug. "Figured you would be when you didn't show up for dinner."

"No, I'm not!"

"You are. Trust me. I wish we had a chance to talk before dinner, before you had a chance to blow this out of proportion.

"I did not!" Grissom insisted, hoping he didn't sound like he was pouting.

"Look, shit happens," Sara said with a chuckle. “I said something that you didn't like. Sorry. It's not like you haven't done it a ton of times to me. But you don't cut and run the first time your feelings get hurt. Hell, if that were the case, I'd have been back in San Francisco before my first year in Vegas."

"You what? Why?" he asked, clearly perplexed. The dirty look she directed his way didn't settle his nerves any.

"Doesn't matter. Ancient history," she said, sinking to her bed. "Grissom, relax. Please. I said I'm not afraid of you, and I mean it."

"And I said maybe you should be."

"Okay, maybe I should be. Maybe, in years to come, I'll regret making this choice. I can accept that as a possible outcome. But, even if that's true, I'm willing to take the chance. I want to try."

"Sara, you don't understand. I can't try."

"Really?" she snorted lightly. "What about that dance earlier? You sure seemed eager to try then."

Letting out a long sigh, Grissom ran his hands over his face, rubbing his temples slowly. She was amused. He was breaking her heart, and Sara found it enjoyable; something was definitely wrong. Just how hard had she hit him?

No, he wasn't imagining this. Why couldn't she just let things be? It was over. She didn't understand; that's all there was to it.

"I don't do things the way other people do them. I can't 'try', Sara. I can completely avoid this, or I can be fully involved," he explained, imploring her to understand. "There is no middle ground. Not for me. I can't move on if this doesn't work. I would never get over you."

He waited as Sara stared at him with a look of calm concentration. Earlier, he'd been afraid she would cry, but the tears would have been expected. This Zen-like acceptance was quieter, but deeply disconcerting.

"Why did you ask me here?" she asked, tilting her head to stare at him when he didn't answer immediately. "I think you're already committed, at least emotionally, to this. Isn't that why we're here?"

Grissom stared at her, his mouth partly open, as her words sank in. He hadn't considered that fact as he meandered around the city.

"Look, you've already opened yourself to the possibility. If what you said just now is true, then you don't have anything to lose, right?"

Again, he just looked at her as his mind processed what she was saying. Did she have a point? No. It was an oversimplification. Wasn't it?

Sara shook her head before continuing. "The way I see it, we can try. It might fail, then we'll be unhappy. Or it will work, and things will be great. But if we don't try, then misery is pretty much guaranteed."

"This isn't a version of Pascal's Wager," he said slowly.

"Tell me about it!" Sara said, giving him a smile as she pulled back the covers on her bed. "Think about it, okay? That's all I ask. If you decide you're still willing to try, then we can move at any pace you're comfortable with."

"Sara…"

"No. We'll be here alone for the rest of the week. That's as long as you have," she told him.

"For what?" Grissom asked, licking his lips nervously when she rolled her eyes.

"To make up your mind. Before it really is too late. I'm sorry. I do love you. But I'm not going to put my life on hold any longer. I'm not going to wait forever while you to decide what you want to do. If you don't want to do this, then I'm moving on."

"What?" he asked incredulously. "You'd leave me? Vegas?"

_Well what did you expect she'd do? Spend the rest of her life in a convent? What an idiot! She's still young, beautiful, intelligent. She can find someone else. _

"Probably not. Depends on how things work out, how you handle things. If we can't work together, then I'll consider it," she said, settling under the covers. "It's late Grissom, and I still have a letter to read before I go to bed. Get some sleep. We can talk later."

"But…"

"Goodnight!"

There was no missing the finality in her tone, so Grissom walked towards the door. Pausing at the exit, he looked over his shoulder, but Sara was engrossed in his letter, a look of open curiosity on her face as she studied it.

Closing the bedroom door softly, he wandered into the common area of the suite, standing there in confusion. Eventually, he went to the coffee pot. There was some brew left in the carafe. A quick sniff revealed it hadn't reached toxic sludge levels yet, and Grissom reheated it in the microwave.

Sinking into one of the chairs, he tried to decipher what had just happened. Things certainly had gone better than he planned – except for the fact that Sara didn't seem to understand he'd called it off. It was over. They had no future. He ended things between them, once and for all.

She couldn't reject his rejection. Could she? This was too confusing.

_Maybe because she was right. What is there to lose at this point if I do try? _

_Everything. _

_And what will I lose if I don't try? _

_Everything. _

With a groan, Grissom leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. He knew there was a reason he avoided relationships in the past. This was giving him a headache.

_TBC _


	7. Ch 7

**No Room To Wiggle  
Summary: **Grissom tricked Sara into going to a conference with him. What's going to happen now that she knows the truth?  
**A/N: **A follow up to my Improve Challenge short story, _Wiggle Room,_ that one of my betas blackmailed me into writing. A few sprinkled spoilers for season four. Thanks to Burked and Marlou for their beta skills. All errors are mine.  
**Rating:** PG-13 - may change later.  
**Disclaimer:** If I haven't figured out a way to own CSI by now, I'm never going to.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

With a deep yawn, Sara wandered into the suite's living area early the next morning, pausing in mid-scratch when she spotted Grissom. He sat slumped in one of the upholstered chairs by the window. A mug shifting absentmindedly from one hand to the other was the only sign that he was awake.

"Good morning," Sara called out, frowning when she realized he was wearing the same clothes from last night. Turning on a light, she shook her head slowly; Grissom looked terrible. His answering grunt made her worry.

After reading his letter, she'd laid in bed staring at the ceiling as she tried to plan the best way to handle the situation between them. From his missive, she learned that the job provided a sense of stability in his life that he craved. It was something she always suspected, but Sara never realized the depth of that need, or how much the job played into it.

And their conversation last night drove home the extent of his insecurities. He really felt she would eventually get fed up with him and leave. To him, the pain of denying their attraction was easier than dealing with the possibility of a breakup.

Unfortunately, Sara didn't know what else she could do. She'd stayed in Vegas for years; she'd made the first overture; she'd let him know how she felt. Whatever issues he had, Grissom had to work them out for himself. All she could do was be supportive while he came to a decision.

Sara hoped he could do it quickly; she wasn't joking about the deadline. As much as she wanted to be with him, things between them couldn't stay the same. It wasn't healthy. The uncertainty, the hurt – it all had to stop. It would be hard moving on, but this unrelenting dance they did around each other was wearing her out.

Moving to the coffee pot, she sneered at the dredges coating the bottom of the carafe. A quick search revealed they'd used all of that day's complimentary coffee provided by the hotel, and that wasn't something she'd picked up from the store.

After washing out the pot, Sara grabbed two bottles of juice from the mini-fridge and crossed the room hesitantly, trying to gauge Grissom's mood. She held out one of the bottles to him as she settled into the other chair, resisting the urge to roll her eyes when he directed a dirty look at the juice.

"We're out of coffee. The hotel doesn't provide much. I'll pick some up during lunch. Did you get any sleep?" Sara asked.

"Not yet."

"Don't you know what time it is?"

"It's not a school night."

That time she did roll her eyes.

_He's in a petulant mood, and I don't have any coffee. Great. At least I slept. _

_Okay, Grissom's been up all night. He must have been thinking about what I said. Is that a good sign or not? _

_Well, Sherlock, considering he's pissy, I'm going with not. _

"Grissom, it's five in the morning," she stated softly, nodding when he looked up in surprise. "Yeah. Look, why don't you sleep in today?"

"I can't. Bob's talk is the first one. I can't miss it."

"Then grab a nap. You can get a couple of hours sleep before we go down."

"I don't need a nap."

With a long-suffering sigh, Sara stood up and headed back to the fridge. "Did you eat anything last night?" When he didn't answer, she rested her hands on the counter, counting to ten silently before fixing a bowl of cereal.

"Eat," she commanded, shoving the carton of Rice Krispies in his hands. When he set it on the table untouched with a nasty look, she nearly growled.

He is upset. Fine. I can understand that, deal with that. But this … pouting … is getting out of hand.

"Grissom, just eat. There's no significance to it. There's no pressure. It's just a bowl of cereal. It won't hurt you."

"No. Thank you."

"What do you think starving yourself is going to prove?"

"I'm not starving myself," he said, shifting in the chair and opening the curtains.

"Then eat something," she said, making a point to keep her voice calm.

"No."

"Grissom, there's no coffee. Don't piss me off before I had my caffeine."

Sara's eyebrow rose in challenge when her sharp tone got his attention, causing him to give a half-apologetic shrug. "I don't like bananas," he said, pointing to the offending slices floating in the milk.

"Why didn't you just say so?" she asked, giving him a grin as she took the cereal for herself. "I didn't know that."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he said enigmatically, resuming his examination of the cityscape.

"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me, either."

Sara looked down at the cereal quickly. If his tone had been hinting at secrets, hers had been an Acme anvil dropping from several floors up. The quick glance at the shock and concern on his face convinced her that Grissom had picked up on it, too.

_Great move. Like he doesn't already have enough doubts about us. Now what's he thinking? _

"Sara?"

"Everybody has secrets, Grissom. Everyone has stuff they don't like to share. I'm no different."

_He's not buying that. Damn. I don't want to talk to him about that. Not now. It's too personal. And God only knows how he'll react. I'm afraid of scaring him off. _

_He deserves to know. Well, if things work out, I'll have to tell him. But not before then. Hell, he'll probably forget before the day is over. He won't ask. _

"Like what?"

_Damn. _

"It's not important," she evaded, getting up to throw away the empty container.

Grissom stayed in his chair, but Sara was aware that he tracked her every move as she cleaned up the counter.

"I'm older than you."

Sara blinked at the sudden statement, leaning against the wall as she faced him. "I do know that."

"Have you really considered the implications?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah, I have," Sara said, pushing off the wall as she crossed the room. Squatting on the floor beside his chair, she rested a hand on his arm when Grissom avoided looking at her. When he did meet her eyes, Sara continued seriously.

"It means you're 15 years older than I am. And, statistically, men die 10 years younger than women. That's skewed, because males are more likely to die at a younger age, but it still means there's a good chance I'll spend the last quarter-century of my life alone. I know exactly what it means. And it's what I want."

"Why?"

"Grissom," she sighed, looking away for a moment. She patted his knee, giving him a sad smile. "I love you. I'd rather spend whatever time we have left with you, than years longer with someone else."

She waited as Grissom chewed over that, rubbing his beard with one hand before giving her a level stare. "That's not fair to you."

"Life isn't fair. No one can say what's going to happen. Hell, I could find out I have cancer the next time I go to the doctor. I could slip in the tub and break my neck. I want to live life, Grissom. There's always going to be risks. You can try, but you can never really hide from them."

He didn't answer, but rested his head in his hand, staring out the window as the sun started to rise. Sara waited several moments; she could tell he was working through something.

_He's thinking. Again. So what else is new? Face it – you over-talk around him; he over-thinks everything. Better get used to it, because I doubt either of us are ever going to change. It's part of who we are. _

_At least he's considering it. That's something. He's not trying to back out of it. That's a good sign, right? _

_Or you just gave him a reason to be 'noble', and he'll call it off because it's not 'fair'. Oh, just try that excuse, Grissom, and I'll show you 'fair' …_

When he made no move to share what was on his mind, she stood up, holding his hand briefly.

"I'm going to grab a shower. If you insist on going to the conference, do everybody a favor – at least change clothes," Sara said, winking as she headed to the bathroom.

* * *

By the time she finished her shower, Grissom had retreated to his bedroom. She then went to her own room to change and read, letting him have some space. He even managed to both change clothes and shower before they headed to the conference center.

Still, he didn't look well; there was a tightness to his face, and he still seemed pale. Sara resisted the urge to tell him to go back to bed, but she insisted he grab something to eat. Sipping her second cup of coffee, she watched him push some eggs around his plate, hoping that some of the food would eventually end up inside him.

"Damn, Gil. You look like shit!"

Both turned around as Bob's voice boomed through the room, causing multiple heads to turn their way.

"Bob, really. You need to learn to speak up for yourself. I'm sure someone across the street didn't hear you," his wife said sarcastically. "Gil, you don't look well. Do you need a doctor?"

"This is more than bad chicken. I know this is an entomology conference, Gil, but that doesn't mean you're supposed to catch bugs," Bob said, laughing at his own joke.

"I'm fine," Grissom said, shooting Sara a warning look.

"If you say so," Cheryl said, turning her attention to Sara and giving her a wink. "A group of us normal folks are heading to the museum this morning. You want to escape these maniacs?"

Sara noticed that Grissom dropped his eyes to his plate and resumed nervously shifting food around. _Okay. What's that mean? Let's see: he wants me to go, so he can have some space, but he doesn't want to tell me. Or, I go with Cheryl, and he'll think I think he's a maniac. _

_Oh, brother. _

_Okay, if I stay, and he does want space, I can still do that. We don't have sit together. I wanted to get some coffee at lunch; I can grab a sandwich when I'm out. _

"Thanks, but I'll stay," Sara said.

"I told you she would," Bob said exuberantly, excusing himself as he went to talk with some of the other attendees.

Grissom didn't look up from his plate, so that left Sara wondering if she'd made the right decision. She was trying to keep an eye on him and answer Cheryl's questions when Bob came storming back to the table later, his face flushed with anger.

"Talk to your daughter," he demanded, slamming a cell phone on the table in front of his wife.

"What about?" she asked, ignoring the phone as she ate her breakfast.

"About that, that, that … man!"

"Tom? Are they finally getting married?" she asked happily, turning to Sara. "Deanna is our youngest. I've been hoping she'd finally marry him."

"How can you … don't you … what …," Bob sputtered as he collapsed in a chair. With a dramatic sigh, he laid his head on the table, wrapping his arms on top of it.

"Well, it's about time. They've been living together for a year."

"They have not!" he hissed, pulling his head back angrily.

Sara looked to Grissom for guidance, but he seemed equally uncomfortable and fascinated by the scene unfolding around them. Sara picked up her coffee, trying to ignore the hundreds of amused faces watching their table.

"Yes, Bob, they have. He moved in with her when she got the apartment."

"That bum! That…"

"Oh, hush. You know he's not a bum," Cheryl said patiently.

"Deanne is too young to get married," Bob insisted, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"She's the same age I married you."

"She is not!"

Sara sat there, her eyes wide open as the couple continued their bickering. Well, half-bickering. Bob's arms flailed wildly, while his wife serenely continued her meal. Sara looked back to Grissom. He lifted his shoulders in a "what can you do" gesture.

"Bob, I was there when I married you and when Dee was born. I'm not sure which was more painful," she teased. "I wouldn't forget either event. She is."

"But, but," Bob said, grasping for straws. "He's a _plumber_!"

"He owns his own contracting company. And he makes more money than the two of us combined. Besides, we don't have to worry about the basement flooding again."

"That only happened once. I didn't know the pipe was going to break. And stop trying to change the subject."

"I'm not, Bob. I'm happy. Just think – we could be grandparents soon."

"Noooo!" he wailed, turning to his friend for support. "Gil! Say something!"

"Congratulations?" Grissom offered uncertainly, his comical expression almost drawing a laugh from Sara.

_Glad I'm not the only one that's confused, and Grissom's known them for years. If you listened to them, you'd think they were fighting, but they're holding hands now. Bob is taking this so hard, but his ranting doesn't even faze Cheryl. They're so different from each other, but it doesn't interfere with their relationship. God, I wonder if they realize that what they have is so special. _

"Congratulations?" Bob moaned. "How can you say that? Some friend you are."

Sara's head snapped in time to see the hurt in Grissom's eyes before a mask of detachment settled over him. Before she could react, Cheryl reacted angrily for the first time.

"Bob! Apologize this minute!"

"What? Oh, Gil. Sorry. But that, that … creepy toilet plunger is robbing my little girl from the cradle!"

"Oh, hush! She's 21, Bob. Trust me – we got rid of her cradle years ago," she said, giving him a loving look as she patted his arm. "Darling, Dee's all grown up. Gil, will you be able to make the wedding?"

"There isn't going to be a wedding," Bob insisted.

"Yes, there is. Convents stopped locking up girls years ago."

"Well, I'm not going!"

"That's entirely up to you, Bob. But it's going to happen, whether you want it to or not. That's life. It goes on, with or without you. You can hide from it, but you'll miss out on all the joys," Cheryl said as she buttered her toast. Setting her knife down, she turned to Sara. "Will you and Gil be joining us tonight? We're going to see the Mud Hens."

"What? Mud hens?" Sara asked in puzzlement. Both the sudden switch in conversation and Grissom had confused her. After the older woman's last comment, Grissom's head had jerked sharply. Well, it was something else for him to think about. "Bird watching?"

"Someone's not a MASH fan," Bob chuckled.

Sara looked around the table in continued bewilderment. Grissom was still lost in his own internal world. Bob looked amused, his earlier anger dissipated as suddenly as it arrived. Cheryl remained serene. How did they get to a TV show? Oh…

"Baseball? There's really a Toledo Mud Hens team?"

"Sure is. Gil, what about you? Should we arrange a gurney for you?"

"I'll be there."

"So will I," Sara said, not responding to the harsh look Grissom directed towards her.

_Okay, he did want to be alone, and he hadn't counted on me attending a sporting event. And he's not happy. _

_It's going to be a long day.  
_

* * *

In spite of her gloomy prediction, Sara was surprised by how much she underestimated Grissom's mood. She kept her distance from him during the day, but he still gave her hurt looks. At the lunch break, she left to grab the coffee. Sara knew she'd seen him eat apples, so she bought a few of those as well.

When she got back to the conference, she learned from Bob that Grissom had spent the entire break looking for her. Walking up to him, he stormed off in a huff, without even acknowledging her statement that she was going to put the purchases away.

Sara took a seat in the back of the auditorium, mentally bouncing between worrying about him and devising plans to dispose of Grissom's body and explain his disappearance when he took the seat beside her. He didn't say anything, and Sara didn't push, just glad that he was at least willing to be physically near her.

His mood didn't improve even after his racing roaches won again, moving up in the standings.

Changing into more casual clothes, Sara debated actually attending the game, deciding in the end to go. If Grissom wanted some time alone, he should have said something. She half-hoped he'd stay at the hotel and sleep. Besides, she didn't have any of her own friends around, and enjoyed being around the Crothers; they were amusing, if nothing else.

"You're not driving," she said, holding her hand out for the keys.

"You're not on the insurance," Grissom said, frowning when she leaned against the driver side door.

"And if you drive in your condition, we'll both need that insurance. Keys."

He didn't argue; in fact he was silent the entire drive. Arriving at the ballpark, Bob waved them over to the group of bleacher seats reserved for them.

"Fred, here they are. Let me make the introductions," Bob said to a younger man beside him.

"Gil Grissom," Grissom said, sticking out his hand, and quickly sliding into the bleacher, literally dragging the other man onto the bench next to him.

Sara rolled her eyes as she sat on the other side of Fred. Bob and Cheryl snickered softly.

"Fred Horowitz, from Stanford," the younger man answered politely before turning around and holding his hand out again. "Sara Sidle?"

She shook his hand, glancing over his shoulder to see Grissom staring in disbelief. It mimicked her own mood. "Yeah, Dr. Horowitz."

"Call me Fred. Actually, it's Freedom Moonsage Horowitz. You wouldn't believe the parents I had."

"Actually, I think I know the type."

"I guess you would. I heard you studied theoretical physics at Berkeley."

"Grad school, yeah," Sara answered, risking another look at Grissom.

_Oh, definitely pissed. Well, he's the one that stuck Fred between us. Jeez, I'm just being polite to the guy. _

"Did you know a Professor Kramer in Optics?"

"Crazy Karl?" Sara asked lightly. "Oh, yeah. How do you know him?"

"He's my uncle."

"Oh," Sara muttered, wishing she could disappear. Her eyes narrowed as Grissom settled back with a broad grin on his face. She blushed as she smiled apologetically at Horowitz. "Sorry."

"Oh, don't be," he said, leaning into her. "That's nicer than what the family says about him. I was wondering if he was as big a nut job at work."

"He was, uh, interesting," Sara said, noting – without surprise – that Grissom was scowling again.

"That's an understatement! And for the record, he's not a blood relative. He married my aunt," Horowitz said in mock-severity, before tilting his head and frowning. "Of course, that means I had a blood relative insane enough to marry him."

"Love is … weird," she said, smiling as Grissom darted his eyes to her briefly before looking away, clearly perplexed.

"Among other things," Horowitz chuckled as he smiled appreciatively.

_Oh, no. No way. This can't be happening. _

"Uh, huh. You know, I didn't eat before coming over. I wonder if they sell anything suited for a vegetarian," Sara said, getting up quickly.

"You know, I was wondering the same thing," Fred said as he joined her.

_Oh, he's not. What are the odds? _

"That's something else you two have in common," Bob said.

"What else do we have in common?" both asked in unison. Sara couldn't stop the resulting laugh, ducking her head towards Bob to avoid Grissom.

"You're both from San Francisco."

"Actually, Tamales Bay," Sara corrected, leaning forward slightly to look around Fred.

_Well, Grissom's watching the game now. Or practice. Whatever it is they're doing down there. He better not be angry. This wasn't my idea. _

"No kidding! I love that town. I go power biking with friends on weekends. Sometimes we swing through there and eat at Magpie's for lunch."

Fred kept a continual conversation going as they wandered around the concession area, finding out what other people they both knew. By the time they headed back to the bleachers, she was ready to strangle him. Not only did he never shut up, he'd been down right condescending when she bought hot dogs for Grissom. She looked around in concern when they returned, noting that Grissom was gone.

"He's in the little bug's room," Bob explained, letting out a disappointed yell at something on the field.

With a subtle shift, Sara let Fred into the bleacher first. When Grissom did return, she smiled kindly at him as she handed him the food and soda. After staring at her for a moment, he took the meal with a grateful nod of his head.

Unfortunately, Fred continued talking, asking her about Vegas, finally commenting that it didn't sound anything like the Northern California coast.

"It's not home," Sara admitted, surprised at the sadness in her voice. It was true; while the desert held its own beauty, it didn't compare. And the city itself was gaudy and loud. Too many of the residents – like herself – were recent transplants. There was no sense of community like she grew up with.

She could feel Grissom's gaze, and she cautiously turned around. His stare was deep, but he didn't say anything as he eventually offered her one of his french fries. She took it, sighing as Grissom frowned and turned back to the game when Fred started another barrage of questions.

_Dammit, Grissom. Don't you get jealous on me. You don't have any reason to be. I don't like Fred. Besides, you tried to dump me last night. And let's not even start on the whole possession bit. _

After the game, Sara watched as Grissom silently brooded as they made their way to the car. On the ride back, she expected him to be jealous, but when she finally looked at him, he looked concerned.

"I never knew you weren't happy in Las Vegas," he said softly.

"I never said I wasn't," she pointed out.

"You aren't," Grissom stated, closing his eyes as he leaned against the seat.

Thinking he'd fallen asleep, Sara drove slowly to the hotel, unable to resist darting her eyes towards him. His quick exit from the car when they got there convinced her Grissom had been playing possum. By the time she got upstairs, he'd already taken refuge in his room, leaving her in the living area, shaking her head.

_What's going on inside that head of yours, Grissom?  
_

* * *

If Tuesday had been awkward, Wednesday was a demonically-inspired day.

Even with separate bedrooms, sharing the suite was uncomfortable as they tried to avoid each other as they took turns in the bathroom. Grissom apparently had slept, but it didn't improve his mood any.

Before Sara could talk to him, Fred and the Crothers had joined them for breakfast. Grissom cut out early, saying he needed to talk to a colleague. He kept his distance through the day, but did reappear magically when Fred joined Sara at lunch.

Sara's patience was starting to wear thin by the end of the day. Grissom didn't even smile when she congratulated him when his roaches continued their winning streak. She bowed out quickly when invited to join in the poker game, feeling a sense of relief when Grissom agreed to go.

She read a journal and then ordered room service, eating a late dinner as she watched the news. A long, hot soak in the tub relaxed her muscles some, but her mental state was still jumpy. She couldn't figure out what was going on with Grissom.

_Okay, he wants to be with me. I know that. He's trying to convince himself that it'll work before he'll commit. Or convince himself it won't before he runs. He's confused. _

_Guess Grissom believes in sharing, 'cause I sure as hell don't know what's going on. _

_I wish Catherine was here. Damn, I really am a mess. Nah, she gets Grissom better than I do. Or she knows people better. Probably both, but at least she would know how to handle him now. _

_If she believed it. Damn, I can see the expressions at work if they knew what was going on here. 'Oh, yeah, Grissom gave me dance lessons, and we almost ended up in bed.' I think Greg would have a heart attack. _

That imagery did bring a smile to her face. After changing into her pajamas, she called the lab. She wouldn't tell them what was going on, even if it had been positive, but she missed her friends. She was laughing loudly at the result of Greg's first attempt to deal with a stoned biker when Grissom walked in.

"It's the lab," she called out before his mind could jump to jealous conclusions. "Everything's okay there. Hold on. Do you want to talk to anyone?" she asked Grissom, who shook his head, still standing by the door. "Hey, no, that's cool. Good luck with the case."

Hanging up the phone, she found Grissom staring at her with a curious expression. "Just chatting," she offered, looking nervous when he tilted his head. "You okay?" she finally asked.

"Hmmm."

"That's one thing I always admired about you, Grissom. You're so witty."

"There's nothing planned for tomorrow," he said.

Sara watched as he moved slowly, circling around the room as he headed for the window. Distant lightning played across the skies, but the city noise drowned out any hint of thunder. He leaned against the cool glass, looking into the distance.

"I thought you were going to the amusement park," she said, creeping up to stand on the far side of the window.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I hadn't given it much thought."

"I … ," Grissom began, tapping his fingers against the window ledge fretfully. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll find something to do," she assured him gently. "Go have fun. You could use it."

"I want to spend the day with you."

"What?" Sara asked incredulously.

Grissom turned to face her, looking extremely nervous. "I want to spend the day with you."

"Really?"

Seeing her smile, he nodded, licking his lips as he took a step towards her. "I promised to take you dancing, but we never made it to dinner."

"I made it," she pointed out, easing her own way closer to him. "You never showed up."

"I want to make it up to you."

"No," Sara said firmly, but giving him a smile. "You wanted to go to the amusement park. I won't have you missing that because you think you owe me an apology. I wasn't kidding, Grissom. Go have some fun. It'll help you clear your mind."

"I wasn't joking," he said, taking a resolute breath. "I _want_ to spend the day with you, Sara."

"Seriously?" she asked, dropping her head embarrassedly. _If I start giggling, someone please shoot me._

"Very," he promised.

"Okay. Uh, we might as well go to Cedar Point. You wanted to, anyway. No, I'm serious. I want to see what you find so interesting about roller coasters."

"It's the thrill, the anticipation," he whispered, leaning in close enough that his breath tickled Sara's chin, prompting her to close her eyes. "Goodnight."

She snapped her eyes open, but he was already most of the way to his room. He paused before going in, giving her an amused wink before closing the door.

"Anticipation? Oh, like I'm going to sleep now."

_TBC_


	8. Ch 8

**No Room To Wiggle   
Summary: **Grissom tricked Sara into going to a conference with him. What's going to happen now that she knows the truth?   
**A/N: **A follow up to my Improve Challenge short story, _Wiggle Room,_ that one of my betas blackmailed me into writing. A few sprinkled spoilers for season four. Thanks to Burked for her beta skills. All errors are mine.  
**Rating:** PG-13 - may change later.   
**Disclaimer:** If I haven't figured out a way to own CSI by now, I'm never going to.

* * *

**Chapter 8 **

Early the next morning, Grissom stood by his bedroom window, his brow raised in consternation as he pondered exactly when his life became a karmic nightmare. A late summer storm swept through during the night, and the lingering remnants threatened to put a damper on their outing to Cedar Point.

Tapping his fingers against the sill, he tried to think of an alternative if the weather didn't improve. Grissom doubted that the Toledo Crime Lab would appreciate it if he brought Sara to a crime scene as a first date, but he couldn't think of anything else guaranteed to hold her interest.

He hoped that wasn't an omen.

So far, this entire venture could be chalked up as an example of Murphy's Law in action. Nothing had gone as planned. His goal had been to spend some time with Sara outside the stresses of work, to gauge her interest in a relationship. If she were agreeable, then they could proceed in a gentle stroll through all the emotional landscape that would entail.

What they ended up with was a head-on collision of raw fears.

Faced with the emotional intensity of the exchange, he'd reacted instinctively, retreating away from Sara and the potential damage this relationship posed. Luckily, she remained levelheaded through it, but Grissom knew he came dangerously close to permanently ending things. And he also knew that this was his last chance.

_I hope. I hurt her when I backed off. I didn't mean to, but it keeps happening. Why does she put up with me? No one else has ever been willing to. _

_Sara was right – if we don't try, we'll never know how happy we could be. It may end up a disaster, but I can't let her go without trying. She won't have any trouble finding someone else; she won't put her life on hold because of me. _

_That would kill me – watching Sara make a new life with some other man, knowing that I was afraid to even try. _

Letting out a loud huff, he gathered his clothes together. The weather was out of his control; if a change of plans were necessary, he'd defer to Sara's wishes. It would serve as a chance to gain some insight into her preferences, and Grissom wanted her to feel relaxed.

The sight of sheep in the suite's common area caused him to pause on the way to the bathroom. Sara sat at the table, clad in her sheepish sleepwear, tapping softly at the keyboard.

"Don't you ever sleep?" he asked half-jokingly.

"Sure," Sara said, smiling as she looked up from the laptop. "Just checked the weather. There's a chance of showers through the day. I went to the Cedar Point web site; as long as the weather doesn't get too bad, the rides stay open."

"We don't have to go," he offered diplomatically, trying to focus on her face rather than her pajamas. He had an uncontrollable urge to count all the sheep.

The thought of Sara wearing happily frolicking animals to bed shattered any amorous images he had. Considering he was standing in front of her clad only in his underwear in a hotel suite, Grissom decided that probably was a good thing.

"When's the next time you're going to be this close to these roller coasters? Uh, Grissom?"

He snapped his head up, mortified that he'd been caught in the act of gathering wool. While she was talking, his gaze had drifted to a pair of peculiarly playful sheep. Unfortunately, they happened to be at chest-level.

"Those are very … distracting," he mumbled, pointing towards her pajamas with one hand while the other brought his clothes in front of him.

Sara flashed him a toothy grin as she shut down the computer. "They're thin, so they pack easily."

"That's why you got them?"

"Actually, I had no idea anyone else would be seeing my PJs when I was packing for this trip," she answered dryly and raising a lone eyebrow. "And, for the record, I didn't buy them. They were a gift from one of the guys, back when I was in San Francisco."

"Really?"

_Great. She's wearing the nightclothes some other man gave her. Well, that's a definite signal … of some sort. Right? And what kind of lover would buy something like that as a present? _

Sara rolled her eyes, getting up to start a pot of coffee. "Jealousy isn't one of your better points, Grissom. They came from a Secret Santa. We gave joke gifts at the lab," she added when he gave her a curious look. "We were always having fun with stuff like that."

Grissom stepped over to the counter, leaning against it and tilting his head as she worked on the coffee. "We don't do things like that. Is it something that you miss?"

"Sometimes. Different people, different … traditions, I guess you'd call it. Somehow, I can't see you giving Catherine a box of exploding cigars as a gift."

"I value my life too much. What else do you miss?"

Sara turned the coffee maker on, crossing her arms as she leaned back. She was quiet for a moment, before a wistful smile formed. "The water. Lake Mead isn't the same. You don't get the breezes, the salty air. Wreaks hell with crime scenes, but I even miss the rain."

"We'll get some of that today. Cedar Point is right on Lake Erie," Grissom said, pushing away from the counter. Feeling the resistance, he froze before another disaster occurred.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Grissom said quickly, nodding towards the bathroom. "Why don't you take your shower first? Go on."

"Okay," she replied, shaking her head in confusion as she went to retrieve her own supplies. Once Sara was in the bedroom, Grissom frantically tried to free himself; the underwear-eating counter had snagged his boxers once again.

* * *

After losing another pair of shorts, a leisurely breakfast in the hotel's dining room and a two-hour drive filled with causal conversation, Grissom smiled as they made their way into Cedar Point. Both the weather and mid-week timing helped explain the meager crowds.

"We won't have any trouble with lines," he said happily.

"Where do you want to start?"

"With the best. Let's go to the Top Thrill Dragster."

Tagging along, she smiled in response to his palpable eagerness. It was a side he seldom showed, but when he did, Grissom didn't hold back.

"So, what makes it top?" she teased. "Do they have a scale? Middle, top, over-the-top…"

"It's the tallest and fastest coaster in the world," Grissom said, pointing to the tracks rising in the distance.

Sara stopped in mid-stride, her arms falling limply to her side. "No way."

"What?" he asked, his eyes darting around in puzzlement.

"How tall is that thing?"

"Four hundred and twenty feet," he supplied from memory.

"And you want to ride it? You are insane!"

"It's fun."

"Fun? You saw what that little coaster in Vegas did. Do you have any idea what the terminal velocity on that thing would be?"

"Top speed is one hundred and twenty miles per hour."

"No way," she repeated, crossing her arms and shaking her head. "No friggin' way. That's suicide."

Sara didn't budge when he tried to encourage her to move. Grissom's tongue peeked out between his lips as he rubbed his beard. _Okay, Sara doesn't like thrill rides. That's odd. How can anyone not like roller coasters? Hmm. Small steps – remember. Let's try something else first. _

Running his eyes over her hip-huggers, tie-dyed shirt and beaded necklace, a sly smile formed. "Why don't we start with the Woodstock Express?"

* * *

"Real funny, Grissom," Sara said.

"Well, you didn't want to ride the biggest roller coaster."

Sara turned away from the kiddie ride, fixing him with a pointed look.

"You didn't get a clue when we entered Camp Snoopy?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips.

"You're a real smart as … alec," she answered, biting back her original reply when she noticed that a redheaded boy standing nearby had turned to watch them.

"You don't hafta be afraid, lady. That ride don't go fast," he said, pausing in between each word to lick at his ice cream cone.

"He's right," Grissom said, his eyes twinkling with hidden laughter.

"My baby sister is riding it all by herself."

"And all those other little kids are riding all by themselves. See, it's safe."

"I am not afraid," she said shortly, resisting the urge to plant her elbow in Grissom's stomach.

"You can hold your Daddy's hand if you are, though," the ice cream eating commentator added, nodding sagely.

It was Sara's turn to hold back her laughter when Grissom's expression changed immediately, his mouth dropping in shock. Knowing the age difference bothered him, she moved quickly before any permanent damage could be done.

"He's not my dad."

"He's not?" the kid asked incredulously, swinging his head back and forth.

"No, I am not."

"Then what are you doing here with him?"

"Didn't your parents ever tell you not to talk to strangers?" Grissom asked curtly.

"Yeah, but my Daddy is a professional wrestler. He'll smash anybody that causes any trouble."

"They're loading for the next ride," Sara said, pulling on Grissom's arm before the kid's father did show up. Seeing his scowl as they took the last row of seats, she nudged him with her shoulder before interlacing her fingers with his. "You can still hold my hand."

Grissom reluctantly smiled, giving her a gentle squeeze and a wink when the ride pulled out from the loading platform.

* * *

After leaving Camp Snoopy, Grissom led Sara in a crisscrossed pattern through the park, gradually working their way through the coasters. They managed to get in rides on the Wildcat, Blue Streak and the Iron Dragon before the storm cloud burst.

Grabbing Sara, Grissom made a quick dash to the side, pulling her under the overhang of a concession stand. She laughed lightly, stopping when he turned to face her. They stared at each other silently for a moment. Resting his hands on either side of her, Grissom leaned in close to share the narrow strip of protected space.

He watched as Sara swallowed nervously before licking her lips, her fingers coming to rest lightly at his waist. The cool rain fell on his backside, a noticeable difference to the heat he could feel coming from her body.

His eyes still trained on her lips, he stepped closer as the downpour drove others to share their overhang.

_The one we're sharing with groups of children. _

Grissom blinked rapidly as he took a deep gasp of breath. Sara looked to the side and downward, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks as both of them realized they were in public. They stood there uncomfortably aware of the crowd, both conscious of their mutual attraction and the fact they couldn't act on it.

Once the rain let up, Grissom stepped away, smiling when Sara slipped her hand into his. Clearing his throat, he pointed out their next destination. "That's the Disaster Transport," he said, grimacing at the squeak that worked its way into his voice.

"Yeah, that's a name that inspires confidence," she said drolly as her heart continued to race.

"It ain't bad. It's all inside, and you can't see nothing, but it don't go fast."

Both turned to stare at the same redheaded kid following behind them. He even had another ice cream cone.

"You can hold your Daddy's hand if you get afraid, lady," he said before moving on, apparently oblivious to the calls of "I'm not her father!" and "I'm not scared!" that followed him.

* * *

Two rides later, Grissom suggested they get an early lunch, leading her towards one of the restaurants located inside the park. He smiled contently as they walked hand-in-hand. The public display of affection would strike most people as trivial, but to Grissom it held significance. And Sara knew that.

_This is nice. I wish I had thought of this sooner. No one knows us, there's no pressure from work. We don't have to hide anything. We don't have to worry about protocol or regulations. We can just be ourselves, have fun. _

Seeing Sara's affectionate grin, he dropped his head momentarily. After years of denials and yearnings, it struck him as incredible that she harbored similar feelings. Rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, Grissom's smile broadened.

_This is very nice. _

Before they reached the restaurant's entrance, he let out a surprised huff when she suddenly pulled him around the side of the building. The breath escaped in a prolonged hiss when Sara pressed him against the wall.

"Fred alert," she muttered distastefully, carefully peering around the corner.

"Oh," Grissom said, swallowing as he fought his body's reaction. His frustration was compounded by the fact Sara wasn't aware what she was doing to him. Her attention was on the crowds and the annoying Stanford professor, but her fingers played over his chest reflexively. They were close enough together that he could feel her breath tinkling his neck.

_And we're still in public! Stop thinking about it. Right. Just ignore the fact a woman I've dreamt about for years is pressed up against me. I could just reach out … No! Kids. There are kids everywhere. We're in a secluded spot; we can't be seen here. No! Don't think like that. _

"Figures he'd show up here. I was ready to strangle him yesterday at the conference."

"I thought you liked him," Grissom replied automatically, closing his eyes as he dredged up baseball statistics from years gone by.

"Oh, puh-lease! Give me some credit," she said, taking his hand and resuming course to the restaurant. When Grissom didn't respond, Sara shot him an amused look over her shoulder. "I may have bad taste where guys are concerned, but I'm not that hopeless."

"If you say so," he answered distractedly, pausing and cocking his head in confusion. "What? Wait a minute…"

Sara laughed as she walked into the restaurant.

* * *

When the second rainstorm started, Sara took the initiative and pulled Grissom into an arcade. He smiled indulgently when she got a handful of tokens. Sara returned the look with a hint of a challenge, pointing to a line of Skeeball machines along the back wall.

"Wanna see if you can score?"

"I think I'm up for it," he replied gravely to her teasing.

"We'll see about that."

Six games later, and with a significantly lower score, Grissom turned to her in a mock-pout. "I thought I was going to score."

"Nothing's guaranteed," she said softly, her arms wrapped lightly around herself.

"I wouldn't presume to think so."

Sara grinned before rolling her last ball for another perfect score. "And you fell for that. Come on, Grissom. This is pure physics."

"Maybe we should try another game," he said, leading her to a pinball machine and whispering into her ear. "I wanna score."

She closed her eyes as a shiver ran down her back. Grissom saw the reaction, and he cleared his throat as his mouth went dry.

"You have to have the right moves," Sara replied, grinning over her shoulder as she played her first ball. It became a scowl when the ball immediately dropped down a side chute, ending her turn.

His lips twitching, Grissom raised an eyebrow at her low growl. Taking his place at the machine, he played his first ball. While not record breaking, he managed to score considerably higher than Sara.

Her second shot managed to bounce around some low-scoring bumpers at the top of the machine before rolling down the center. Pushing the flapper buttons wildly, Sara scrunched her face as Grissom resisted the urge to chuckle.

Sara rested against an adjoining machine, her arms crossed as she gave him a mock-scowl as he sent his second shot on a circuitous route through the game, racking up an impressive score.

Pivoting on one foot, he leaned his hip against the pinball machine and gave her an innocent look. "Are those the right moves?"

Moving into position, Sara glared at him, but with an annoyed smile. "You cheat."

"Never," he stated seriously, leaning in close to her and resting a hand on the small of her back. "That's something I can promise."

"Okay. Uh, good," she answered, looking away with a bashful grin. After a moment to compose herself, Sara examined the game in more detail. "I can figure this out."

"You're releasing the ball too late."

"What do you mean?"

As Grissom swung around to demonstrate, Sara stepped away from the machine. They both started as her backside pressed into the front of his body, each feeling the tension intensifying as a veritable electric charge coursed through them.

Closing his eyes, Grissom inhaled deeply as his head dropped to her neck. His hands rested on her hips instinctively, and he squeezed when she leaned back momentarily before moving away.

_We're in public! Surrounded by kids! God, this is going to be the death of me. Decomps, autopsies, bodies hit by trains, Greg's singing. Think of anything but the way she felt, the smell of her. _

_Maybe I should go stand in the rain. _

"The rain's letting up," Sara said, her face flushed.

_Figures. Murphy's Law again. _

"How about something to drink? I could use something to drink," she added, looking everywhere but Grissom's face.

"Something cold would be good," he croaked out. "And the Mantis is nearby. Let's see if we can ride that."

"That's a fun one."

Both sets of eyes swung slowly to the side, staring at the ice cream armed boy who stared at them. Mortified that they may have been observed, Grissom gave silent thanks that at least the boy was too young to understand what he had seen.

"It's nothing to be get afraid of," the redheaded kid added.

"How old do you have to be before you can be charged as a stalker," Sara muttered. She pushed Grissom ahead of her, shoving the tickets she won from the Skeeball machine in the kid's hand in a pre-emptive strike. "And he's not my father!"

* * *

"This way."

"There're no coasters over there," Grissom said in confusion.

"I know," Sara replied, giving him a wink. "There are other rides here. We're riding at least one of them."

"If you want."

With an amused eye roll at his bewilderment, she led him through the lines, pulling him back at the last moment.

"I get in first," she insisted, smiling as he shrugged. "Basic physics."

"What?" Grissom asked, shaking his head as the ride started. "Centrifugal acceleration."

"You can get smashed," she teased, sliding over against him in an exaggerated imitation of the ride's end result. Her grin was irresistible.

Before the spinning ride picked up full speed, Grissom slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her even closer. When he glanced back at her, her smile was gone. He recognized the look of deep concentration as Sara stared at his profile.

Exiting the ride, Sara walked ahead of Grissom, seemingly lost in thought. She stopped when he called out, shaking her head when he pointed to the popcorn vendor. He stood in line to get a container, but more as a diversionary tactic than from hunger.

_That's the Sara-in-full-sleuth look, but I have no idea what caused it. _

Grissom offered her some of his popcorn, but Sara still declined, her head tilting as she watched him chew. Feeling a bit self-conscious, he led her towards the Top Thrill Dragster.

_Sara didn't mind the smaller coasters; maybe I talk her into it now. Well, if she still doesn't want to ride it, she'll let me know. Maybe. She hasn't spoken yet. Something has her thinking. But what? _

"Something wrong?" he asked softly.

"No."

Grissom nodded, chewing another handful of popcorn thoughtfully as they strolled over the damp pavement. Sara rested her hand on his arm, stopping his forward motion. Moving to a shaded alcove, she reached to his face, turning it to one side, then back the other way.

"Is my beard lopsided?" Grissom joked.

"You have a scar behind your ear," she said, frowning as she pulled her hand back and crossed her arms defensively. "Just the one. You didn't have it before."

_Uh, oh. I didn't think that it was noticeable. Well, no one's been that physically close to me since the operation. _

"The scar is from a skin graft," Grissom said.

"Skin graft? That's not a very big patch of skin."

Letting out a short sigh, he directed her to a bench away from the park's other patrons. "It's enough to reconstruct the eardrums. I needed surgery to correct a hearing defect."

"Surgery? You had surgery since I got to Vegas? Without anyone knowing about it?"

"Catherine knew," Grissom replied. Immediately, he could see the pain in her eyes. "But I didn't tell her. She figured it out. My hearing went out on me at a scene."

Sara looked away, giving her head a sad shake. "You could have told me."

_I never realized that Sara would be upset that I didn't tell her about the surgery. How can I explain it? I was about to lose everything. I was afraid. That's what you don't want to admit to her. _

"You were seeing that paramedic. I didn't want to bother you," Grissom said.

"That's bullshit. You didn't have trouble bothering me with other stuff."

Grissom turned his head away, chewing the inside of his lip when a hand rested lightly on his.

"No, I'm sorry," she sighed, rubbing his arm. "That wasn't fair to you. I do get it. You didn't want to risk your job. You were willing to endanger the rest of us, that's how much it meant to you. It's who you are."

"That's not why…"

"Don't," she urged softly.

Grissom took a deep breath and stared at his popcorn. "I didn't want you to pity me, Sara. I didn't want you to feel sorry for me. That thought was worse than knowing I could permanently lose my hearing."

She stared at him, her jaw dropping before giving him a sad look. "Do you really think that little of me?"

"Maybe I had that little faith in myself."

"Grissom," she said, leaning back on the bench and pushing her hair away from her face. "What about now?"

"What about now?"

"Would you tell me? Or would you still keep secrets?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly, taking a single piece of popcorn and chewing slowly. "It's not a matter of trusting you, but habit. I'm not used to having someone I can talk to, so I don't tend to share personal information. I can't promise that's a habit I can get out of easily."

Sara considered his response, shrugging her acceptance. "Would you lie to me?"

"No. If you asked me a direct question, I would answer it as best as I could."

"I can live with that," she said eventually, turning her head to face him. "But if you ever have surgery again without telling me, your hospital stay is going to be a hell of a lot longer than you planned."

"Okay," he said, not doubting her for a moment. Tossing away the empty popcorn container, Grissom pointed towards the roller coaster. "What to give it a try?"

"I still think you're insane," she answered, grudgingly moving in the direction of the coaster.

"It's fun ride, lady."

"This kid is seriously freaking me out," Sara whispered to Grissom as the redheaded boy walked by with a vanilla cone. "How much ice cream do you think he's had so far today?"

"Enough that I don't want to ride near him on the coaster."

Sara gave narrowed her eyes as she glowered. "I'm really trying not to think of all the stains an ALS would show on those seats."

"I'm sure they clean them," Grissom said, taking her hand as they moved to the line.

"Some kid making minimum wage?" she huffed. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure they really clean things well."

"Didn't you bring your nonoxinol-9?"

"They won't let you disinfect the seats," Sara groused.

"I won't ask how you know that," he said with a quick wink. "It'll be fun."

"I don't go on suicidal rides with just anyone. Didn't they have an accident here earlier this summer? I hope you appreciate this."

"More than you know," he whispered.

* * *

The thunder started rolling before the ride ended, and by the time they disembarked, both of them were drenched.

"I think we better call it a day," he said as they dashed for cover under an overhang and pointing to clouds rolling off the water. "This one isn't going away quickly."

Even with Grissom holding his ever-present jacket over them as a makeshift umbrella, the rain continued to pound them as they made their way through the crowd to the parking lot.

Getting to the car, Sara turned to him, smiling nervously as he effectively pinned her against the car. She reached up, taking the jacket so Grissom could search for the keys. Instead, his eyes dropped lower, for the first time noticing the effect the cool rain had on her T-shirt.

All his frustrations from their earlier encounters came to a head as he ignored the rain, the passing cars, letting his gaze move longingly over her body.

"The keys," Sara whispered, looking around the parking lot nervously. All the other visitors were wisely getting in their vehicles.

"Right," he said hoarsely, moving quickly when a flash of lightning lit up the sky. Fishing out the keys, he opened her door, shaking his head when she tried to hand his jacket back. Running to his side, he smiled at the fact that Sara had already unlocked his door and was ready to open it for him.

"You keep it," he insisted, draping his jacket over her.

_I don't think Sara realizes that shirt is see-through when it's wet. We're never going to make it back to Toledo if she doesn't cover up. At least it'll be attributed to a weather-related accident and not an uncontrollable libido. _

The embarrassed smirk she gave him before looking out the window confirmed that she had realized the source of his discomfort. Licking his lips fretfully, Grissom gripped the steering wheel tightly as he waited to exit the parking lot.

The ride back to Toledo was slow, the pelting rain severely limiting visibility. They passed the time exchanging nervous smiles, their conversation forced as they both tried to ignore the feelings they couldn't act upon.

Partway back, Grissom pulled into a roadside convenience store, glancing nervously at Sara. "Do you need anything?" he asked.

Sara shook her head, watching as he looked around before entering the store. She closed her eyes and leaned against the seat, pulling the jacket off. Quickly seeing that the shirt dried off sufficiently, she tossed it over the back of the seat. Things had been steamy enough without it.

A few minutes later, Grissom returned with a paper sack. Getting into the driver's seat, he pulled out two bottles, letting Sara have her pick of drinks. She noted the bag wasn't empty when he folded it up before slipping it into his jacket pocket.

The closer they got to Toledo, the heavy the rain became, slowing their already snail pace. Instead of dissipating, the tension between them grew, until they were both fidgety when Grissom finally pulled into the hotel's parking lot.

Entering the elevator, they moved to a back corner, staying a safe distance apart as other guests joined them. The ride to the fourth floor must have passed through a wormhole, because it seemed to Sara and Grissom that it was taking forever for what should have been a short journey.

When they finally got to their floor, they silently moved to their suite, sharing quick, intense stares. Sara stared at the doorknob, trying to calm her ragged breath as Grissom fiddled with the key card.

Once inside, they moved to the center of the suite, each giving the other uncertain looks. Grissom finally stepped closer, his hands poised to hold her, but he hesitated in taking the final step necessary.

_This is all a dream. If I kiss her, try to finally live this, I'll wake up. _

Sara's eyes darted between his hands and his face and then back again. She flashed him a shy smile, shifting her weight anxiously from one foot to the other. Finally, she took a deep breath, grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him in for a kiss.

That was all Grissom needed to convince himself this was reality. His arms wrapped around her tightly as his mouth moved over hers in a heated frenzy. Sara's hands slipped under his jacket, urgently exploring his back.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that he'd picked her up and was carrying her to his bedroom. Laying her on the bed gently, Grissom covered her face and neck with kisses as his hands roamed over her sides. He was deliciously happy that she reacted so well to their first date.

_First date? _

Breaking off the kiss, Grissom rolled to his side. After clearing his throat, he gave her a forced smile. "So, what do you want to do for dinner?"

Sara stared at the ceiling for a moment before rolling her head to the side, watching Grissom with a mixture of befuddlement and wariness.

"You want to eat? Dinner? Now?"

Sensing the uncertainty in her voice, Grissom nodded. "This isn't about sex, Sara. I won't rush you," he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "I can wait."

Sara turned her head back to the ceiling so he wouldn't see her eye roll. He had her more aroused than she thought possible considering the limited amount of physical contact they had. From his uneven breathing and minute squirming, she gathered he was excited as well.

She smiled sweetly. Even through all this, he was willing to be gallant. It was as touching as it was unnecessary. Still, she couldn't resist the urge to turn the tables on him.

"You'll wait?" she asked, rolling on her own side.

Grissom closed his eyes briefly, but nodded. "I can be very patient," he said, sounding almost if he was trying to convince himself. "I did tell you I was courting you."

"So you did," she said, sliding closer. With an impish smile, she began to unbutton his shirt.

"Sara?" he exhaled as her hands began exploring his chest.

"Oh, I never said you had to wait," Sara whispered as she leaned in for another kiss.

_TBC_


	9. Ch 9

**No Room To Wiggle  
Summary: **Grissom tricked Sara into going to a conference with him. What's going to happen now that she knows the truth?  
**A/N: **A follow up to my Improve Challenge short story, _Wiggle Room,_ that one of my betas blackmailed me into writing. A few sprinkled spoilers for season four. Thanks to Burked for her beta skills. All errors are mine.  
**Rating:** PG-13 - may change later.  
**Disclaimer:** If I haven't figured out a way to own CSI by now, I'm never going to.

* * *

**Note**: This is the ffnet-safe version of the story. If there's any interest, I can include the "deleted scenes"on my web site later.

**Chapter 9 **

The loud crash woke Grissom from his slumber. One eye cracked opened. The flashing light and rumbling echoes indicated the storm was back, hitting the city for another night. Waking slowly, he noted the other side of the bed was cold.

It took a moment to remember why that was a problem.

Sitting up quickly, he turned on the bedside lamp and scanned the room. The evidence from their earlier trysts was plain to see. Rubbing his hand over his hair, Grissom looked for his shorts, hoping that there was a logical reason for Sara's absence. He noted that her clothes were still spread across the room, so she hadn't completely abandoned him.

Walking into the common area of the suite, he saw her standing in front of the large window. She'd dressed in her pajamas, and a towel was draped over her shoulders. Grissom started to relax until a flash of lightning illuminated the room, and he caught her wiping her hand over her cheek.

"Sara?" he asked nervously, turning on a lamp. A million reasons why she'd be crying were running through his mind, and none of them struck him as positive.

"Hey."

"What's wrong?" he whispered, waiting for her to answer, but she only shook her head. "Did I hurt…"

"No!" Sara answered quickly, wrapping her arms around him reassuringly. She exhaled slowly, resting her head on his shoulder, gladly soaking in the warmth from his body.

Sara knew the difference between making love and sex, but in a way, she felt like it was the first time she'd been made love to. While hurried, Grissom had been reverent in the way he watched her, in the way he touched her. Afterwards, he'd been especially tender, taking his time to learn all her sensitive spots.

"Did I do something wrong?"

She pulled back, shaking her head slightly. "No. Trust me – it was great."

"You weren't rushed?" he asked, running through his mental checklist.

"Uh, Grissom, I kinda remember initiating things. But I have to tell you, I never slept with a guy on a first date before," she admitted shyly.

"I didn't think you would," he admitted, still feeling a bit anxious. "Does that bother you?"

"Not really. It's not like we just met. We've known each other for years, even if we haven't been dating."

"How many meals have we had together?" Grissom asked suddenly.

"Why? You want to make them retroactive dates?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "What would you say if we did?"

"That you're a cheap date," she deadpanned. "Okay, so it was us, Cath, Nick, Warrick, sometimes Brass and Greg. Were they really unique double dates, or do you have some sort of weird lifestyle preferences?"

"No, I don't," Grissom said, raising an eyebrow pointedly. "Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

Sara rolled her shoulders. "It was just a bad dream."

Letting out a relieved huff, he rested his forehead against hers. "Want to talk about it?"

"It's nothing."

"It's enough to have you standing out here by yourself."

"It's silly," she said, shaking her head.

"You can talk to me," Grissom said, hoping his voice sounded encouraging and not petulant.

"Ugh. Okay, promise me you won't get angry. It was just a dumb dream."

"What?"

Sara took a deep breath, answering him quickly as she exhaled. "We were back in Vegas. The expense reports show we had the same room. The gang started teasing us about having to share a suite, and you…"

"Panicked?" he offered.

"I was going to say 'went ape shit'."

"First, I never understood that expression, and I prefer panicked," Grissom said with a chuckle, idly brushing his fingers through the curls framing her face. "Your hair is curling."

"It's the humidity. And I told you the dream was stupid …Hey! You're laughing. What gives?" she demanded.

Grissom shrugged. "Who am I to say anything? I'm still waiting to wake up myself. I can't believe this isn't a dream."

"Hmmm. I think I like your dreams better than mine," Sara purred, moving to nuzzle his neck, but Grissom stopped her, pointing at her sheep-covered pajamas and shaking his head.

"Those are too disturbing."

It was Sara's turn to laugh. "You're ovinephobic. Or is that even its own subset of zoophobia?"

"Sheep are fine in fields. Or on plates. But it's hard to think of you amorously when you're covered in little, ribbon-wearing, playing sheep."

"So, now I know what to wear when I need some rest," she said with a broad grin.

"I am a forensics expert. I can make those sheep disappear," Grissom warned, but it became more of a whimper as she started nibbling his earlobe.

"You wouldn't dare. I can get other _disturbing_ PJs before you find where I hid your racing roaches."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, yeah. I would," Sara said, nodding her head in emphasis. "You don't want to start practical jokes on me, Grissom. Ask Nick what happened to him the first – and only – time he tried to pull one on me."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise, stepping back and taking her hands in his. "I have a feeling that's something I don't want to know about. What I do want is to go back to bed. And I want you to come with me."

"I think we're going to need to get some more practice in before I can guarantee that happening."

Grissom shook his head at the pun, but breaking into a smile at her faked naïve expression. "Those have to go first," he insisted, quickly deflocking her before carrying her back to bed.

* * *

"Grissom, we have to get up," Sara stated, rolling her eyes when he once again pulled her back down. The gesture was wasted, since he refused to open his eyes.

"Why?"

"Because it's morning. We're still on the schedule of the light dwellers. This is when they get out of bed," she said, resting her head on his chest.

"I don't want to."

Sara chuckled. It was easy to understand his reluctance. This would be the last day they had together before they had to head back to Vegas and their hectic lives there. But they also had to shower, pack and get their belongings in the rental car, check out of the hotel, spend a half-day at a conference, before a multiple-layover flight back to Nevada.

"It's the last day of the conference. You don't want to miss that," Sara pointed out as she wiggled out of his arms.

"They'll have other ones," Grissom said, slipping his arm around her again.

"We have to check out of the hotel."

He grunted. "Not for a few more hours."

Sara lifted her head from his chest and pulled out the heavy artillery. "If we don't get up, you know Bob will come looking for us."

Grissom opened a single eye, giving Sara an annoyed look.

"And you know he'll find a way to get in here."

With an audible groan, he finally let her go. "Spoilsport."

"He's your friend," Sara mentioned as she slipped out of bed and pulled on her T-shirt from the day before.

"Don't remind me," he half-groused. Grissom went around the room, searching for their clothing.

"I like him. Just not too often. Bob's a bit … boisterous. He did get us this suite."

"True," he admitted, turning to give her a smile.

"And we don't have much time to get packed!" she insisted, noticing his hungry stare as she walked half-naked around the room.

"We could skip breakfast…"

"I'm going to go take a shower, or we're going to have to deal with Bob walking in on us at a very bad time. And I don't want to be the subject of one of his 'funny' stories."

While she did that, Grissom straightened the bedspread and picked their clothes from the floor. It did little to disguise what had happened in his room. It was a silly thing, but the thought of the hotel maids discussing his involvement with Sara seemed a violation of their privacy, even though no one knew who they were.

He grabbed the scattered dishes from their dinner and moved them to the table in the living area of the suite. Back in the bedroom, he sorted their clothing out. After retrieving his outfit for the day, he emptied his dresser. He'd just finished repacking most of it when Sara returned.

"Your things are there," he said, nodding to the stack of clothing on the bed.

"Uh, I don't think I did this," she said sarcastically, holding up a pair of his ripped boxers when he looked at her. "Or this. Something I should know about?"

Grissom felt his face redden as he gathered his tattered shorts. "The counter. I kept getting snagged on it."

"And you're keeping them as a souvenir of the trip?" Sara asked with a happy grin.

"No. I didn't want the maids to find them in the trash and talk about what could have caused it," Grissom sighed as he looked at the bed. "Not that I think it's going to be a secret. Maybe you should leave your nonoxydil-9 for the next guest."

"Ugh. I was really trying not to think about that," she whined. "That is so much worse than unsanitary amusement rides."

Grissom gave her a contrite smile as he tossed the shorts into the bag with his dirty laundry. Gathering his clothes, he headed to the shower, frowning when he noted that Sara had already retrieved her nightclothes from the suite's living room area. He was certain he could have found a way to explain how the airline could have lost just one set of clothing from their luggage.

By the time he got out, Sara had finished the packing, moved both of their bags into the hallway by the front door, emptied the fridge of the last of the fruit, which she was stashing away in her purse.

"I guess we're ready to go," he said, heading to the bedroom to gather up his roaches. Moving back, he went to retrieve the luggage, but Sara slipped her arms around him tightly. Holding the container with his bugs away from her, he returned the embrace, gently swaying their bodies.

"We'll make this work," Sara promised as she broke off the hug.

"I know," he replied, his bravado serving to cover his own insecurities.

"I like my private life to stay that way. I'm not going to tell everybody in the lab about us. You don't have to worry about that. And I won't tell them that story Bob told, about what happened with those sorority idiots."

"Thanks."

"I guess this is it," she sighed, helping to collect their belongings. "I know we'll be able to have time together back in Vegas, but this was nice. Not having any calls to go to."

"No interruptions."

"Having time away from everything."

"This is an annual event," Grissom pointed out with a trace of a smile.

"Oh, yeah. No one would notice that we both go to entomological conferences at the same time. Never in a building full of investigators."

"We'll make this work," he parroted, giving her a last, drawn out kiss.

* * *

Sara expected the morning to pass by slowly, knowing it would be another day before she and Grissom could be alone again, but she took comfort in the occasional, shy glances he directed her way as they sat through the remaining talks.

Things went well until the finals for the roach races. Grissom's bugs – who had earlier broken their personal best times – refused to budge from the starting line.

"What happened? They were doing so well," he said in astonishment.

Sara moved to his side while he put them back into their traveling containers. "They did get traumatized."

"What do you mean?"

"You left them out on the dresser last night. They watched us. Can be very distressing to the young."

Grissom gave her a mock-scowl. "Even if I were to anthropomorphize their performance, blaming it on what they saw, it doesn't mean that was the reason."

"And you can't exactly use it as an excuse to your buddies," she said, smiling as Bob stepped up. She let out a mild yelp when she swept her off her feet and into a bone-crushing hug.

"Down, Bob! We've had this talk before," she said with a laugh, rolling her eyes when he pecked her cheek avuncularly.

"Doesn't Gil like to share?" he asked softly, his great, bushy eyebrows waggling at her stunned expression. "Oh, relax. I'm just kidding. But he's not a bad guy … if you're looking."

"Thanks, Bob," Sara answered dryly, smiling when Cheryl stormed over, swatting her husband over the head.

"Stop playing matchmaker. You're terrible at it," she sighed before turning to Sara. "I won't tell you what he did to our neighbor."

"That wasn't my fault!"

Grissom intercepted them before they launched into another exchange, pointing out they had to catch a flight. After quick exchanges of goodbyes, Sara and Grissom headed to the hotel garage. Pulling into traffic, he briefly glanced her way. "When we get back to Vegas, I'll drop you off at the lab so you can get your car. I'll have to check my messages at least."

"That's okay. I want to see what happened on my case."

"Would you like to come over for a late dinner? The meal they'll serve us won't be that good. You don't have to – I know there are things you'll need to do. Water the plants, get the mail, things like that," he added quickly.

"That won't take long. The post office is holding my mail for me, and I gave the plants a long soak before I left."

"Okay."

"So, yeah, I'd like to come over for dinner."

"Good," he said with a pleased smile. "I don't want to monopolize all your free time. Well, yes, I do, but I won't push."

"Same here," she grinned at him. "You know, we have to get back into the night shift. I wasn't planning on going to bed until tomorrow morning. Well, going to sleep, anyway. If you want to do something after dinner, I'm game, but if you want time to bond with your bugs…"

"How about a movie? I understand I've been a cheap date," Grissom said.

"A movie would be nice."

They made their plans on the way to the airport, spending the time questioning the other about their preferences in movies, music and novels. After returning the rental car, they waited patiently to board their plane.

Sara was grinning at him, when she suddenly looked up in shock. Grissom turned around, letting out a groan when he saw the redheaded boy taking a seat in the waiting area. Then another one. And then a third one.

They turned to stare at each other, both of them shrugging. Sara was the first to speak. "Triplets?"

"It looks that way," he said, looking back at them. All together and up close, it was possible to see slight variations in the three boys' appearances.

"I don't know which is worse," Sara mused. "That we keep running into him, or that there's three of him."

"It is disturbing."

"Worse than my pajamas?" she teased.

"Different category of disturbing."

All three of the boys looked up at the same time, their heads swiveling to face the criminalists. All three waved at them simultaneously.

"We're going to be on the same plane with them for hours," Grissom pointed out in mild horror. "This is going to be a trip to remember."

Sara turned around, giving him a quick wink. "Oh, this is one trip I won't forget."


End file.
